


The Associative Property of Being Happy

by concupiscence66



Series: The Principles of Sweet [2]
Category: Sweet (2000)
Genre: BDSM, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5725330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concupiscence66/pseuds/concupiscence66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete loves Henry, and he couldn't be happier now that they are in a relationship.  There are some tiny little problems like Henry's constant self-destruction, and the fact Pete is still a little too intimidated by his boyfriend to actually call him by name...</p><p>But Pete is sure if he just ignores their problems long enough, they'll all go away!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Pete was buzzing off Midori Sours as Stitch dragged him through the crowd and towards the men’s room. It had been Stitch’s idea to go dancing (and to wear their matching shirts), because Stitch had just dotted the Is and crossed the Ts on another script for Gel. The short film “Sweet” had garnered just enough attention to get Gel a real(ish) budget for a full(ish)-length film. Stitch had been thrilled to be asked for a second script, then he’d fallen into a deep depression and drank for weeks. Eventually, he’d cut back on drinking (drinking only after 4 pm), and he’d started writing. For months, Stitch wrote and drank (and occasionally snorted coke) and alternated between being irritable and unapproachable and being full of love and affection.

The night before, Stitch had stayed up all night to finalize his first draft. Then he’d got drunk, slept the day away, and woken up saying he wanted to take Pete dancing.

Pete flushed and ducked his head as Stitch pulled him into an empty stall. Pete had no problem getting off in public—far from it—but he felt shy under so many admiring eyes. He knew people were wondering what someone like Stitch saw in someone like Pete. Stitch was tall and handsome, and it was obvious just from looking at him that he was well smart—he had one of those intelligent faces—while Pete was short and bony and always managed to look like a child dressed in adult clothing.

“I know I’ve been an arsehole,” Stitch whispered between passionate kisses. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

Pete tried to show Stitch with his kisses that he could never, ever be anything but thrilled to be his boyfriend. After six months of living together, Pete was still in a constant state of excitement over their relationship. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you in my life,” Stitch continued, “but I am so fucking grateful.”

Pete moaned as Stitch sucked on his neck and moved his hand under Pete’s shirt. Stitch was obsessed with Pete’s scrawny body. He seemed to love all the bones poking out at odd angles. Even in his relationship with Poppy, Pete hadn’t been crazy enough to expect someone to love his boniness, but Stitch was better than anyone Pete (or Dave) could dream up.

Stitch unbuttoned Pete’s flares and fondled him through his pants. Pete was still continually impressed of the size of Stitch’s hands and his skill at using them. It only took a few strokes before Pete was ready to come in his pants, and he had to push Stitch’s hand away.

“I’m too excited,” Pete whispered. 

Stitch’s eyes went soft and he gave Pete a slow and gentle kiss. 

“You are amazing, Pete Sweet, and I am a lucky man.”

Because Stitch was the kind of guy who thought Pete coming in his pants like a horny teen was sexy. How could Pete not be in love?

Stitch pulled Pete’s trousers and pants down and turned him around so he was facing the stall wall. Pete braced himself physically (and mentally) for whatever Stitch had in mind. When he felt Stitch’s hard cock bobbing between his naked thighs, Pete moaned loudly. He was rewarded with the sound of Stitch spitting on his hand and wetting his cock before sliding it into the crack of Pete’s arse.

“Oh, Stitch. Your cock is so big.”

“You’re drunk.”

Pete wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything, but his legs went wobbly when Stitch began probing his arse with his fingers.

“I want you to fuck me, Stitch. Fuck me right here. Fuck me so hard that everyone can hear…”

Stitch slapped his big hand over Pete’s mouth as he began fingering and stretching him. Stitch got off on public stuff, but he was still a bit of a worry-wart.

Pete trusted Stitch to muffle his noises as Stitch pushed inside. Most of the time, Stitch took forever making sure Pete was properly stretched, but tonight, he was moving quickly. It wasn’t that Pete got off on the pain of Stitch pushing in too fast; what he got off on was Stitch not worrying about everything being perfect. Sometimes sloppy, drunk sex with Stitch was the hottest sex.

Pete pressed his face to the graffitied wall of the stall as Stitch pounded into him. As soon as Stitch let his hand fall from his mouth, Pete began begging to be fucked harder and faster. He loved the way a little dirty talk drove Stitch wild. Stitch knew all about freaky sex, but Pete knew all about talking.

Pete closed his eyes and savored the feeling of Stitch fucking him until a sixth sense made him open his eyes. There was a strange pair of eyes staring at him through a crack in the door. Pete locked eyes with the stranger for a panicky moment. He had no idea how to respond to such a situation. He was accustomed to people being more subtle in their voyeurism. He might have continued to stare until Stitch was done, but then Stitch’s big hand suddenly slammed against the wall, blocking the stranger’s view and rattling the whole stall. Pete came hard, his semen hitting the stall wall, while Stitch chuckled and kissed the back of his neck.

“I love you, Pete Sweet.”

Xxx

Pete loved running with the dogs, even though they were terrible at it. Captain just wanted to pee on everything, while Beefheart tried to hump every object in sight, but they made Pete laugh. Stitch wanted to get them properly trained so they would behave, but Pete liked them the way they were. Besides, it was a good excuse for falling behind when they went running. Stitch’s legs were twice the length of Pete’s, so Pete had to run to keep up with his partner’s light jog. Pete had never been a fan of exercise. He liked jumping and dancing and fucking and running when he had somewhere to be, but he didn’t like anything that felt like exercise. He was only jogging with Stitch because the goofball had decided he wanted to get rid of his “succulent man breasts.” Pete was amazed by Stitch’s ability to find flaws with himself. At first it had made him nervous, because he’d imagined Stitch must have seen even more flaws in Pete, but then he’d realized that that wasn’t really how Stitch worked. Stitch hated himself, so he found reasons to support his self-loathing. He hated his beautiful hair and his beautiful body and his beautiful writing for no reason other than Stitch wasn’t comfortable liking himself.

“Hello, Pete Sweet.”

Pete cringed at the rumbling voice that greeted him. Stitch’s ex-lover, Charles, was Pete’s complete opposite. He was staggeringly tall and built like an armored truck. He was square-jawed and handsome, like a Superman comic come to life. Pete was intimidated by Charles’s physicality, his success, his air of sophistication, and his apparently vast knowledge of sexual positions, but mostly he was intimidated because he knew Charles’s opinion still meant something to Stitch. Stitch wasn’t ready to call his relationship with Charles abusive, but he at least recognized that Charles was manipulative. Still, Charles had a way of poking at Stitch’s sore spots and saying just the right thing to make Stitch doubt himself. It wasn’t fair. Stitch was ten times the man Charles was, but Charles had a high paying job, a fancy car, and a killer apartment. He had all the adult indicators of success that Stitch longed for, and Charles dangled his material accomplishments over Stitch’s head at any opportunity. Charles couldn’t use all his money and status to keep Stitch interested, so he seemed determined to keep Stitch from being happy with someone else. He wasn’t obvious about it; Stitch wouldn’t have tolerated that. Charles was sweet as pie and dug the knife in under the guise of wanting to make amends. Sometimes Stitch could shrug it off, but other times Pete could see him physically crumple under the weight of Charles’s offers to lend him cash or equipment or pull some strings in his favor. If Stitch had any ability to manipulate, he could have made Charles his sugar daddy without having to put out, but that wasn’t Stitch. Stitch just quietly suffered and turned the anger inward. Stitch seemed to think he should be too smart to be manipulated, which only proved how little he understood the nature of manipulation. 

Pete was an imbecile, and he’d wormed his way into Stitch’s life with hardly any effort. He’d seen Stitch looking handsome and sad, literally standing behind a “help wanted” sign with the word “Sweet” about his head, and even Pete wasn’t too thick to see it was a sign that Stitch needed a friend. The last thing he’d expected when he’d approached Stitch about a job at his kiosk was to actually get a job at his kiosk. Stitch had tried to fight Pete off and pretend he didn’t want a friend, but he’d soften at the tiniest gesture and he’d listen to Pete ramble on about anything and politely stifle his yawns instead of telling Pete to shut up. For all his prickly armor, it only took a little kindness for Stitch to show his soft side.

Pete couldn’t know how much of Stitch’s sadness was because of Charles and how much had already been there waiting for Charles to take advantage of it, but either way, Charles was an arsehole.

“I see the puppies are still crazy as ever,” Charles said with a warm smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

Pete felt a hint of embarrassment at his puppies’ behavior and wondered where Charles had learned his emotional jujitsu. 

“Yeah,” Pete agreed. “They’re puppies, so they act like puppies. It’s fun.” 

Beefheart chose that moment to aggressively hump Pete’s leg.

“Funny, I never would have pegged Henry for the puppy type,” Charles observed in a tone completely devoid of malice. Pete was tempted to sic the puppies on him, but he was pretty sure they wouldn’t make very good attack dogs.

“Stitch thinks he wants some boring, old, well-trained dog,” Pete explained, “but what he needs is a love-sick puppy to give him all the attention he don’t even know he needs.”

Pete and Charles stared at each other. Pete was pretty sure Charles was trying to figure out if Pete was clever enough to realize they weren’t talking about dogs. He gave Charles his most dazzling smile and shrugged like he didn’t have a thought in his head. It was better to be underestimated.

Charles saw Stitch and waved just as Captain and Beefheart nearly ripped Pete’s arms off, trying to run to their other daddy.

“I was afraid the dogs had pulled you into a lake,” Stitch called as he jogged towards them. “Or pulled you in half.”

“They just found a couple blades of grass that ain’t covered in their bodily fluids,” Pete explained. He kept his eyes focused on Stitch. He didn’t want to see Charles admiring Stitch. It wasn’t that he was jealous, it was just that Charles didn’t deserve to leer at Stitch. He’d had his chance and had fucked it up in every way possible.

Stitch gave Charles a half-hearted greeting, but Charles was not deterred.

“I saw you guys at the Lucky Star the other night. I was going to say hello, but you seemed to be… in a hurry.”

Pete blushed as he tried to remember the eyes staring at him through the stall door. His memory was foggy, but he knew Charles’s eyes. He’d spent months studying Charles and trying to understand his hold on Stitch. He would have recognized those eyes.

“It was a long night,” Stitch said in a surprisingly even tone. “And they play way too many Madonna songs, even for a gay club.”

Pete felt an urge to point out the club was named for a Madonna song, so no one could really complain about the track choices, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t be a welcomed addition to the conversation. He knew when Stitch had suggested the club that he was really thinking about the men’s room. It was one of the cleaner, better-maintained restrooms (that was nearly entirely devoted to toilet sex) in the city. 

Pete barely remembered having left the club, but he remembered the way Stitch had put his jacket on Pete’s shoulders as he’d held him close and guided him out of the club. There was nothing like a bit of kinky sex to bring out the protective side of Stitch. Pete was game for just about anything as it was, but the added incentive of Stitch cooing over him made everything all the more compelling.

Of course, Charles knew exactly why Stitch and Pete had been at the Lucky Star. The night Stitch and Pete had gone to Charles’s apartment, Charles had told Pete all about Stitch’s taste for kinky sex. Pete had ended up practicing having sex in public with Poppy just to make sure he’d be able to handle it. In retrospect, Pete hated that Charles had so easily betrayed Stitch’s confidence, but he was glad to know about Stitch’s interests. Stitch was incredibly uptight for a kinky bastard, and Pete wondered if he would have ever realized Stitch needed more than the tender and sweet lovemaking that made up most of their sex life. Pete still hesitated to initiate a bit a spanking or bondage, for fear that Stitch would insist on wanting ‘normal’ sex, but each time, Henry acted like a starving man being offered a banquet. 

Pete was so busy staring at the dogs and trying not to blush that he jumped when Stitch put his hand on Pete’s waist.

“Time to get the puppies home,” Stitch suggested with a curt nod to Charles.

Charles simply replied, “Have fun with your puppies, Henry.”

Pete wanted to say something clever with a double meaning, but nothing came to him, so he just took Stitch’s hand as they walked away.

Xxx

Pete ran his hands over Stitch’s rear end. Stitch didn’t seem to think jogging was helping with his “bouncing breasts,” but even he had to admit his arse was looking good. 

“How long are you planning on admiring my arse?” Stitch asked. “I know it’s looking good, but…”

Pete silenced him with a smack on the buttock. The second smack made Stitch squirm. Pete enjoyed spanking Stitch. He enjoyed the way it looked, felt, and especially the way it sounded. He was all in favor of spanking Stitch, and yet he always found it difficult to get the process started.

“Please, Pete,” Stitch whispered. Pete quickly obliged with two more smacks. Something strange happened in such moments when Pete was submissively trying to please Stitch by dominating him. Pete couldn’t keep Beefheart from humping his leg. He was not a dominant type of person.

But he enjoyed the games they played. He loved the way Stitch put himself in Pete’s hands and trusted him not to fuck it all up. He liked having a chance to prove he was truly the opposite of Charles in every way.

The next smack was harder than Pete had intended, and Stitch sucked in his breath through his teeth. Pete rubbed the reddened skin and gave it a gentle kiss.

“Good boy, Stitch. You didn’t flinch,” Pete purred. Stitch ground his face in the pillow and moaned, which Pete took as his cue to continue. He kept his smacks at what he hoped was a light sting until Stitch began to moan and squirm about: Pete’s signal to get serious. He spanked Stitch hard, until he could see the marks left by his hand.

“Are you hard?” he asked, as though there were any doubt. Stitch didn’t answer; he just moaned some more.

“On your knees,” Pete ordered. “I want to see.”

Stitch rose up onto his knees, but kept his head buried in the pillow. He spread his knees wide, so he was just the right height for Pete to enter him, with all his most private parts fully on display. Pete felt dizzy as he grabbed the lubricant and drizzled it on Stitch’s reddened skin. He gave Stitch’s cock a squeeze before giving his arse another smack.

“Perfect, as always,” Pete observed. “I think you’ve earned a little something.”

Stitch was still, other than some trembling in his legs as Pete fingered him. He dragged the process out until Stitch was making a sobbing noise into the pillow before he actually put his cock inside. He immediately felt Stitch’s muscles tighten as he came on their quilt. Pete pushed Stitch down so he was prone on the bed while he fucked him. He went harder than he normally would, because he felt full of adrenaline and aggression, but mostly because he knew that was how Stitch liked it after a spanking. 

After he came, he curled up next to Stitch, but the larger man refused to look in his direction, so Pete kissed his shoulder and neck and worked his way back to Stitch’s well-worn arse. He kissed and petted the sore skin and told Stitch he was beautiful and amazing until Stitch rolled over and pulled Pete into a bear hug. 

“What did I do to deserve you, Pete Sweet?”

“Must’ve been something awful,” Pete answered. Then it was his turn for a spanking.

Xxx

Pete’s grandmother had taught him a trick when he was a little boy. She’d said that whenever someone made her nervous, she gave them a friendly nickname, so they didn’t seem so scary. Whether it was someone twice her size or an MP, she called them cute names and – like magic – they all seemed to become docile in her presence. Pete had watched his grandmother running her restaurant for years, calling everyone “sweetheart” and “dearie,” without giving it a second thought. His grandmother had been a wise woman.

“Stitch…”

“You can call me Henry,” Stitch mumbled groggily. He was already half-asleep. A spanking always put him to sleep.

“Stitch,” Pete continued, “what do you reckon Charles would do if I started calling him Charlie?”

Stitch gave him a sleepy smile. “He’d hate it.”

Pete gave him one more kiss on the lips before letting him fall properly asleep. 

Charlie. Charlie, the desperate ex-boyfriend. Charlie Boy, who thought it was okay to mess with Stitch’s heart. 

Once he was sure Stitch was asleep, he said it out loud to see if it felt different.

“Charlie. Genius. Fuck you, Charlie Boy. You heard me!”

Stitch stirred and Pete returned to whispering. 

“Piss off, Charlie. Stitch is with me, now.” 

Pete smiled. He felt better already.


	2. Chapter 2

Pete was pretty sure he was bisexual, but Daisy insisted he was her gay best friend, so he didn’t argue. Daisy was a beautiful woman and Pete had enjoyed their time together, but she was also a bit bonkers. Pete knew why he needed Poppy, but he had no idea what Daisy had been looking for in an imaginary girlfriend. He wasn’t sure what she’d been looking for in Pete.

“What do you think of these shoes?” Daisy asked as she displayed her elegant sling-back pumps.

“Genius!” Pete answered with genuine enthusiasm. He loved over-the-top fashions, and Daisy was the queen. She had always had a distinctive style, but now that she was considering herself an actress, she had gone old-school Hollywood in a big way, and it was amazing. She wore enormous hats and carried fancy handbags and generally looked like a living legend. Sometimes she was confused for a man in drag, but Daisy was fashionable enough to recognize it as a compliment.

“Gay best friends are simply the best!” Daisy squealed. “So much better than a boyfriend, really. We can gossip, go shopping, have picnics…”

“We did those things when we were dating,” Pete pointed out.

“Because you were totally gay and didn’t know it!”

Pete was pretty sure he hadn’t been totally gay, but it didn’t seem worth arguing about. He couldn’t imagine being with anyone other than Stitch. Everyone, even the magnificent Daisy, paled in comparison.

“I had my suspicions,” Daisy continued. “Remember how you always wanted me to do the thing…”

Daisy made an obscene gesture, and Pete blushed. As much as he liked Daisy, he’d already been head over heels for the seemingly unreachable Stitch when they were dating. He had never intended to use Daisy to prepare him for sex with Stitch, but he had to admit she’d been a big help.

“So, how’s the kinky sex?”

Pete shushed her before whispering, “Everything is great, but…”

“What’s wrong, darling? Is he not listening to your safe word? Is it the aftercare? Aftercare is soooooo important. Is he keeping it SSC? Safe, sane, and consensual? I wasn’t going to mention the bruises on your wrist…”

Pete looked at his bruised and reddened wrist. “Actually, that’s from the leashes…”

Daisy squealed in delight.

“The puppy leashes. I had their leashes on one arm so I could carry my groceries, and they went mental…”

“Pete, you are avoiding the subject.”

Daisy looked so stern, Pete suddenly forget what they were talking about.

“What subject?”

“Stitch tying you up and playing with you.”

“I don’t think I said he tied me up…”

Daisy shrugged. “I’m making inferences.”

“It’s just… What’s aftercare?”

Daisy always got excited when it was her turn to explain something, and this was no exception.

“Aftercare is the time you spend after playing, where you reconnect, support one another, talk about what happened. You might want to cuddle and be romantic. Gel reads me poetry after a session, and it is so beautiful… The idea is beautiful, not the poetry. The poetry is absolute rubbish.”

Pete’s heart was pounding in his chest. He had no idea what Daisy was talking about. He didn’t even know a poem by heart. Maybe a limerick or two, but nothing that would impress Stitch.

“What’s a safe word?” he asked. When Charles talked about sex with Stitch, he used words that Pete didn’t know, and it made Pete feel childish and inexperienced. Now he wondered what harm he might be doing to Stitch, in his ignorance. 

He kept making Daisy repeat herself as his thoughts swirled. He was having trouble hearing through his worries.

“You’re worrying too much,” Daisy sighed. “It’s really up to Stitch, as the dom, to handle all these things.”

Pete had a feeling Daisy was wrong, but he hesitated to argue with her. He couldn’t correct her assumption that Stitch was always the one doing the dominating. For one thing, she wouldn’t believe him any more than she believed he wasn’t always the bottom. For a woman who had dated an imaginary woman, Daisy could be oddly black and white in her thinking. 

If Daisy thought it was weird for Stitch to be submissive to Pete, then it was probably something that troubled Stitch. He was entirely too worried about what ordinary people thought about him. Stitch acted like he had no idea he was special and like he needed to be more like the people around him, instead of the other way round. 

Xxx

Pete giggled as he fell back hard onto the bed.

“You think this is funny?” Stitch asked with a barely repressed smile. “This is serious business.”

Stitch easily rolled Pete over and gave him a smack on the rear. Pete watched as Stitch carefully attached the wrist cuffs.

“Too tight? Too loose?” Stitch asked, as always.

“Perfect. Just the way I like it.”

Stitch kissed him tenderly before moving behind Pete and pushing his legs apart. 

“I’m going to need you to lie very still and be a good boy.”

Pete blushed as Stitch ran his hands over Pete’s body and made appreciative noises and giggled when Stitch slipped a blindfold over his eyes. He enjoyed the blindfold. It made it easier to forget to be self-conscious when he couldn’t see Stitch’s shifting eyes taking in every detail of everything around him.

“Get on your knees,” Stitch quietly ordered. “Arch your back.”

 

Pete did as he was told and Stitch ran a finger along his backbone, down to Pete’s arse. Stitch stroked his finger around Pete’s entrance before replacing his finger with his tongue. Pete’s arms shook as Stitch’s thick tongue lapped at his sensitive skin and occasionally penetrated the tight ring of muscle. 

“Keep still.”

There was nothing harsh about Stitch’s tone, but it carried authority. Pete tried to stay still as Stitch tongued him, but it was at once too much and not nearly enough.

“I want you, Stitch.”

“You want my cock?”

“Oh, yes. I want your cock inside me. Now. Please.”

Stitch took his time, drizzling lubricant over Pete’s back and thighs and massaging him, while only occasionally pushing his fingers inside. If Pete’s hands had been free, he would have stretched himself to move things along, but all he could do was spread his legs as wide as possible and hope Stitch would hurry up.

“Please, Stitch.”

Stitch chuckled. “So impatient.”

Pete scooted away from something cold against his arse before he realized it was a toy. He struggled to stay still as Stitch slipped something hard and a little cold inside of him. Stitch quickly found Pete’s prostate and used painfully slow movements of the toy to stroke Pete from the inside.

“Oh, Stitch. Now, please.”

“Patience is a virtue,” was Stitch’s only response to Pete’s begging, other than the occasional spank on the rear.

Pete moaned as he felt a light vibration deep inside of him. Stitch slowly increased the speed of the vibration until it suddenly went from amazing to uncomfortable. Pete tried to move away, but because of his cuffed hands, he ended up falling awkwardly on his face. 

Stitch immediately freed one of Pete’s hands.

“Are you okay? Did that hurt?”

Pete felt embarrassed. It was simple to tell Stitch what he liked in bed. What he didn’t like wasn’t so easy to convey.

“Maybe we should have a safe word,” Pete suggested as Stitch removed his blindfold just in time for Pete to see the look of horror on his face.

“What? Pete, you can always tell me when you don’t want to do something. I would never try to push you into something…”

“I know that, Stitch!” Pete tried to wipe the worry lines from Stitch’s face. “It’s just a word I could use…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Stitch promised. “I should have thought about it. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mean anything by it…” But Stitch had shifted into his unreachable state. Pete couldn’t catch his eye.

“It should be a word you won’t ever say during sex, like rhinoceros or… Henry.” 

Pete had no response, but Stitch quickly apologized for being “a dick.” Pete couldn’t keep up with Stitch when he locked himself up in his own head. It was like Stitch had a thousand voices in his head, and not one of them had a nice thing to say.

Pete wanted to explain that he wanted a safe word so he’d never have to say ‘no’ or ‘stop.’ It would be easier for him to say ‘rhinoceros’ than no.

And someday, he wanted to be able to call Stitch by his proper name.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Stitch murmured into Pete’s hair as he held him tight. “I’m just crazy. You know that.”

Pete laughed and dragged Stitch down for a bit of snogging before Stitch slipped inside and gently made love to Pete while whispering flowery endearments. Whatever they did, there was a sweetness to the way they made love that Pete knew was special. It was different from the horny innocence of being with Jane or the heady impulsivity of Poppy, and it certainly wasn’t like the effort that had gone into being with the easily-bored Daisy. With Stitch, Pete always felt like every sex act was layered with infinite meaning. He often didn’t understand the meaning, but he knew it was there.

“I should be taking care of these things,” Stitch continued as though there hadn’t been a twenty-minute interruption in their conversation. “I haven’t been very responsible. You know I find these things difficult to discuss. I’m sorry if you’ve felt unsafe or like I wasn’t hearing you…”

“Stitch! Are you mental?” Stitch could take anything and turn it into evidence he was a horrible person. “I’m just trying to do a better job for you and understand what you like and all.”

Stitch closed his eyes and looked pained, so Pete snuggled up to him.

“I love you, Stitch. I want to make you happy.”

“You don’t have to let me tie you up to make me happy.”

Pete was pretty sure that statement wasn’t true. Pete didn’t fully understand it, but he knew Stitch needed his games. If they went too long without someone getting spanked or tied up, Stitch got irritable and tense.

“You are the hottest guy I’ve ever met,” Pete pointed out. “It ain’t a favor. I love it when you tie me up and take care of everything…”

“Until I accidentally hurt you…”

“Then you take care of me and snuggle me and make love to me so gently. Even when things go wrong, it’s right because it’s you, Stitch.”

Pete gave Stitch a chance to respond, but he was just staring at the ceiling and looking inscrutable. It was one of Stitch’s hobbies.

“And when I get to tie you up and you let me do what I want…”

“What I want,” Stitch corrected in a flat voice.

“Let me do whatever we want because you trust me, that’s so hot. It’s crazy hot! I like what we do, Stitch. I just want to make sure I’m doing it right.”

Stitch sighed and gave Pete a tight hug.

“I’ll try harder,” Stitch promised. Pete wanted to tell Stitch he didn’t need to try quite so hard, but he couldn’t think of the right words.

Xxx

Stitch slowly grew more irritable through the week, but Pete knew better than to suggest they revisit the scene that had been interrupted. Stitch couldn’t admit that he needed his games, and he certainly could never admit that he needed to play them all the way through or they nagged at him like a loose tooth. 

When Stitch ended up smashing a plate against the wall because there was a piece of broccoli fused to it, he finally admitted he was feeling “a bit wound up.”

Pete found himself slouching in front of Stitch, trying to look properly submissive. It was hard to read Stitch when he was in a state. Everything he did and said was a contradiction. 

“Don’t look like a whipped puppy,” Stitch snapped. Pete jumped and awkwardly flailed his hands. He had no idea what would make it easier for Stitch to ask for the things he needed. When Stitch gave him an unexpected hug, Pete gratefully squeezed back.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Stitch sighed. “Can I tie you up?”

“Sure.”

Stitch laughed. “Not a moment’s hesitation? I worry about you.”

“Tie me up,” Pete cooed, as he pulled Stitch towards the bedroom. “I’m not worried at all.”

Xxx

Stitch used silk scarves to tie Pete’s arms and legs to the bedposts and used pillows to prop up Pete’s hips, so his arse was in the air. Stitch normally just tied Pete’s arms during their games. Pete had been waiting to see the rest of the silk scarves in use. He’d been the one to pick them out, over Stitch’s protestations. Stitch preferred cuffs with Velcro, in case Pete suddenly wanted to run away. He’d spent an hour beating himself with various paddles, whips, and cat o’nine tails to find ones that would sting, but not cause any real damage. Looking at their collection of pink and heart-shaped sex toys, no one would imagine how serious Stitch was about BDSM. When Pete had pointed out that the gear looked aimed at teenaged girls, Stitch had slowly looked Pete up and down and said, “And your point is…?”

Stitch ran his hand along Pete’s hip.

“You are so beautiful. What are you doing here?” Stitch asked.

“I love you.”

Stitch was silent as he drizzled cold lubricant between Pete’s cheeks. He moaned as Stitch slid a finger inside. Stitch stretched and massaged him until his cock was leaking onto the pillow below him. He was grateful for the silk scarf acting as a blindfold. He’d never been so spread out and vulnerable before, and when he couldn’t see, he didn’t worry so much about what he looked like.

He felt less enthusiastic about the silk scarf in his mouth. 

“Say your safe word,” Stitch instructed. “I want to make sure I’ll understand it.”

Pete did as he was told, and Stitch seemed satisfied that he would recognize the word ‘rhinoceros’ even through a gag.

“I need you to be as quiet as you can for as long as you can.” Stitch spoke quietly as he ran the leather strap over Pete’s back and arse. The material was soft and smooth, and it was Pete’s favorite of Stitch’s toys. It was a toy Stitch had purchased for himself, so it was real leather and capable of doing real damage. Stitch was careful when he used it on Pete and swore he’d never used it with Charles and remained a bit vague on the details of why he owned it. The idea of Stitch getting freaky with himself was hot, but the idea that he was using it to hurt himself was upsetting.

Stitch pulled Pete back a little, so his cock was no longer on the pile of pillows and the scarves pulled at his wrists. He ran the soft leather over Pete’s cock as he slid two fingers back inside Pete’s arse. Pete tried to rub his cock against the sheets below him, but he couldn’t move, as his current position gave him no leverage. Pete grunted in surprise at the first blow, but he was able to be quiet for the next three.

“Good boy,” Stitch quietly repeated as he ran his hands over Pete’s stinging flesh. He flinched as Stitch kissed his stinging arse, and his five o’clock shadow poked and scratched the abused flesh. Pete moaned loudly as Stitch’s tongue pushed inside Pete’s entrance. Sweat was already forming on his brow, and he was pretty certain they had barely begun the game.

He forgot to be quiet for the next four blows, but he got back on track with a little prompting from Stitch. He took five strikes in silence before he began begging Stitch to fuck him, his words made indecipherable by the gag.

“You have to be patient,” Stitch said with a quiet authority. “You have to be a good boy.”

Pete was not a patient person, nor was he a good boy. He wasn’t a bad boy, he was just an impulsive and horny guy who made some dodgy choices.

A powerful strike made Pete flail ineffectively in an effort to move away from the belt. 

Stitch again ran the soft leather against Pete’s cock.

“That feels so good,” Pete whimpered through the gag. “I want you inside me.”

“You have to be patient,” Stitch tutted. He delivered two more blows before running his lips over Pete’s arse. “I’m going to fuck you. When I’m ready.”

Pete was surprised by a pressure against his opening. He didn’t recognize the toy being pressed inside him. It was bigger than Stitch normally favored, but it wasn’t much bigger than Stitch’s cock. Stitch worked the toy slowly in and out of Pete’s arse between blows. It had an odd, bumpy texture that Pete found intriguing. He wasn’t sure if it felt good, but it made Pete want to squirm. He tried not to moan, but it was impossible to remain quiet. Rather than scold him, Stitch stroked the toy harder and faster. Pete was ready to come when Stitch removed the toy all together.

“You don’t come until I tell you to come,” Stitch announced. “You need some self-control.”

Pete groaned and shifted his hips.

He tried to beg for more, but his words were muffled and distorted by the gag. 

The next blow made Pete cry out in surprise, more than anything. He’d reached the point of being so keyed up that pleasure and pain took a backseat to an overarching need that he barely understood. His overstimulated brain just needed more of whatever it was that Stitch had to give. It took two more blows for Pete to register that Stitch was using a new toy. The cat o’nine tales slapped at the inside of his thighs, as well as his buttocks. Pete whined when a knotted end hit entirely too close to his already tender opening.

“You like this toy, don’t you?” Stitch purred as he again slipped a toy inside Pete. This time, he noticed the “tails” brushing his thighs as Stitch worked the toy in and out and realized it was the handle of the cat o’nine tails. Stitch had once commented on the phallic shape of the handle, but he’d never actually tried it on Pete before. 

When Stitch resumed the whipping, Pete rubbed his face into the sheets and tried not to cry out loud. The pain was tolerable, but he was getting the feeling that sometimes came with a particularly good session: that he was about to break into a million pieces, and that there weren’t enough scarves in the world to hold him together. He felt primal and vulnerable and filled with a need he barely understood, but that revolved heavily around Stitch.

“Please,” he sobbed into the bed sheet. 

“Say your safe word,” Stitch instructed as he delivered a light smack to the inside of Pete’s thighs. “That’s what it’s for.”

Pete closed his mouth around the gag and remained as quiet as possible. Stitch delivered a few more blows before he stopped and said, “Oh, Pete Sweet.”

Pete knew from his tone of voice that Stitch had found whatever he was looking for. He tried to relax his body, but he was still in too awkward a position to properly move. Stitch rearranged the pillows until Pete could comfortably lie on his stomach. Stitch was gentle as he draped himself over Pete’s body. Pete’s rear and thighs were burning and stinging, and he gasped as Stitch entered him. Stitch kept his movements slow and gentle until Pete was forced to beg for more through the silken gag. Stitch deftly untied the scarf and Pete was free to beg to be fucked hard and fast and to keep on begging until he felt Stitch coming inside of him. He felt wrung out and barely able to move as Stitch untied him and pulled him into a half embrace. Stitch kissed his face and smoothed his hair while Pete slowly dragged the blindfold from his eyes. It was drenched with tears and sweat. 

“That was intense,” Pete observed, not knowing what else to say.

“Are you okay?” Stitch asked as he cleaned Pete’s face with a corner of the bed sheet. “Can I get you anything?”

Pete shook his head and shoved his face into Stitch’s sweaty chest and inhaled his scent. Stitch chuckled and kept stroking Pete’s hair as Pete tried to shake the pins and needles out of his arms.

“Was that too much?” Stitch asked as he rubbed Pete’s arms with his big, warm hands.

It was rare that Pete was at a loss for words, but he was having trouble working his tongue. He didn’t realize he was thirsty until Stitch put a glass of water to his lips. Pete remained a ragdoll as Stitch petted and cared for him and rubbed a soothing balm into his reddened skin. 

“Is this aftercare?” Pete asked when his tongue had returned to normal size.

Stitch laughed and ruffled Pete’s hair. “I suppose. I don’t know much about the terminology.”

“I thought you knew about everything.”

Stitch laughed again. “You have a way of overestimating me, Pete Sweet. I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m doing it.”

“What did you and Charles do for aftercare?” Pete asked. He felt relaxed to the point of being boneless and at ease asking a question he normally wouldn’t have dared. That was one of the perks of Stitch’s games: they made Pete feel more relaxed with Stitch than he ever did in their normal lives.

Stitch’s face tensed, but he answered the question.

“We didn’t switch off. Charles was always the dom. I don’t think it’s normal to switch like we do…” Pete grabbed Stitch’s hand and kissed it. Stitch gave a small smile and continued. “I think most people like one or the other, but… So Charles and I would usually make love after…” Stitch waved towards the bed, as if to indicate the concept of BDSM. “But it was a bit weird, because it usually hurt as bad as anything that we did before, and I usually didn’t get off so it never really felt like the game ended. Then we just smoked cigarettes and talked about bullshit.”

“I hate Charlie so much.”

Stitch laughed again and caressed Pete’s face with his pale and elegant hands. Pete thought they looked like proper writer hands. “You have a big heart, Pete Sweet. Now, what would you like? Do you want me to suck you off? Do you want to fuck me? Tell me what you’d like.”

Pete went from half-hard to full mast at Stitch’s words. If Pete didn’t get off during their “play time,” Stitch always waited a while after to offer to take care of Pete’s needs. In light of what Stitch had just revealed about Charles, it made sense, and it made Pete want to punch Charlie for not appreciating what he had in Stitch. Pete gave Stitch a lingering kiss before answering, “Your mouth.”

Stitch always gave the most amazing blowjobs. He had a wide mouth, a well-controlled gag reflex, and trick of humming, so that Pete’s whole body vibrated along with his dick. Pete’s skin was still sore and stinging as he rolled onto his back, but the promise of a blowie made it more than worth the discomfort. Pete stroked the soft curls on Stitch’s head as his partner kissed the inside of his thighs and mouthed his testicles before taking Pete’s cock in his hand and licking the tip. Pete had to fight the urge to buck his hips as Stitch slowly wet his entire cock before sliding it down his throat. He wanted to make it last, but he was worn out physically and emotionally, and as soon as Stitch began humming, it was all over. Pete clutched at Stitch’s hair and came down his throat and immediately started sobbing. Stitch didn’t ask questions; he just held Pete and stroked his hair until he fell asleep.

Xxx

Pete woke in the middle of the night to find himself alone. He felt raw and vulnerable and filled with dread. He stumbled around and found one of his shirts and a pair of Stitch’s pajama bottoms and went in search of his partner. There were plenty of reasons for Stitch to be out of bed, but Pete’s senses were tingling.

He found Stitch at his laptop. He jumped when Pete said, “All right?”

Then he closed his browser.

“What’s wrong, Stitch?” Pete asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to throw himself into Stitch’s arms and feel safe, but something held him back. Waking up alone was awful, but actually being pushed away in his current state would be unbearable.

“Why do you think something’s wrong?” Stitch asked with a look of pure curiosity. Sometimes the way Stitch stared at him made Pete feel like an alien. It was like he and Stitch were literally from different worlds. 

“You’re awake and jumpy instead of asleep. Something’s wrong.”

Stitch shook his head, as though astounded by Pete’s simple statement.

“I was looking at flats. I was thinking I should move out.”

Pete gingerly sat down hard on a nearby bench. His arse and the back of his legs were still burning. “You’re chucking me?”

Stitch’s face closed, and his tone became unbearably neutral. “I’ve been having second thoughts about all this…”

“What did Charlie say?” Pete snapped, too angry to care about whether his question would set Stitch off.

“I am capable of making my own decisions. I’m not Charles’s puppet,” Stitch replied through clenched teeth. 

“Charles is always there, whispering in your ear and telling you not to be happy. He wants you to be miserable, so he can play his stupid games with you. Why can’t you see that?” Pete cried as a panicky feeling filled his body. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but apparently it hadn’t been long enough for the effects of their game to wear off. Pete’s ability to control himself and tiptoe around Stitch’s mood was somewhere down the hall, still tied up with a silk scarf. “Why do you let him have all this power over you, when he’s just some arsehole who looks good in a suit? You can’t go back to him!”

Instead of yelling back, Stitch stared at his feet.

“It isn’t about Charles. This is about us…”

Pete couldn’t tolerate Stitch’s even tone. It was infuriating.

“You can’t just break up with me after I let you…” Pete flailed his arms as he tried to think of the words for what they had done. “You can’t put me through that and leave!”

He immediately regretted his wording as Stitch’s face grew colder, but Pete wasn’t about to give up without a fight.

“I don’t understand all the things that you need, Henry, but I try. I try to hear what you say, and I try to understand the things you don’t say out loud, and I do things that are well scary, like being all tied up with my bony ass in the air, and… I don’t know how to talk about this stuff, but that was scary, and I did it for you!”

Stitch put his face in his hands and sighed. “Don’t you even wonder why you do these things for me?”

“Because I love you, you idiot! Because I want you to see you the way I see you.”

“As someone who needs to tie you up and hurt you?”

“As someone I can trust to tie me up and not hurt me, not for real. I know Charlie did things to you when you were too pissed and high to think straight or when you were passed out and it didn’t matter if you wanted to say yes or no, ‘cause you couldn’t say anything at all. That’s what Charlie does. You’re not like that. You can like some of his games, but that doesn’t make you him. You’re a good person, Henry. Charlie is just an arsehole with a lot of money.”

Pete felt shaken after his speech, but he waited quietly for Stitch to respond. His backside was killing him, but he fought the urge to squirm in his chair (doubly difficult because he was a squirmer by nature).

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Daisy…”

“She stole my imaginary girlfriend!” Pete yelled. “You think I really want to be with someone like that? She’s crazier than I am.”

Stitch gave a weak smile and said, “But women…”

Pete flinched in pain as he stood up too quickly, and he saw Stitch register his discomfort by sinking into his chair and looking defeated. Pete dropped to his knees in front of Stitch and took his hands. He wished his kinky-sex-loosened tongue was a bit more eloquent.

“I know when Charlie cheated on you, he pretended it was because he wanted to be with women or because it was somehow your fault, but the truth is, he’s just a bad person, Stitch. He’s selfish and cruel. And a dick.”

Stitch gently ran his fingers along the side of Pete’s face. “But you must miss something.”

“Do you miss being with Charles?”

Stitch frowned and looked away, while Pete told himself not to look or act upset. He didn’t know how to lock down his expression like Stitch. 

“There are… things I miss,” Stitch admitted after a painful period of silence. “I don’t want to miss those things, but I do.”

“What do you need, Stitch? You don’t have to protect me. Just tell me what you want, and we’ll make it work.”

Pete allowed himself to be mollified with a hug, because he desperately wanted to be comforted. Losing Stitch would be painful; losing Stitch to Charles would be unbearable.

“I’m just in a mood,” Stitch murmured into Pete’s ear. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I love you so much it’s scary. I was just… shaken up.”

Pete kissed Stitch and told him he was handsome and brilliant and every other word that came to mind, and when his limited vocabulary came up short, he tried to drive the point home with a near-worshipful blowjob.

As Stitch led him back to their bedroom with the promise of “returning the favor,” Pete could still see the tension and worry in Stitch’s face and body. 

Once they were back in the bedroom and Stitch was lasciviously groping Pete through the borrowed pajama bottoms, Pete still couldn’t stop his wagging tongue. “If you want someone else, then go ahead and leave me, Henry, but don’t ever think for a second that you aren’t the best, most amazing thing that ever happened to me.”

Pete ended up topping Stitch, who was still sated from his earlier blowjob but nonetheless gave an appreciative moan for every thrust of Pete’s cock. After he came, Stitch held him in place.

“I love having you inside me,” Stitch sighed. 

Pete thought about how sweetly Stitch had cared for him after their game, and wondered if he had missed a chance to offer Stitch a bit of aftercare. He would have to be more vigilant in the future. Whatever it was that Stitch got from their games, he was deeply affected by them, regardless of whether he was submissive or dominant. If Pete didn’t want to be dumped every time things got intense, he would have to get better at seeing the signs ahead of time.

“Are you hungry?” Pete asked when Stitch finally let him go. “I could make you one of my famous sandwiches or some pancakes?”

Stitch smiled, but shook his head.

“I love your cooking, but I’m so tired. Let’s just… spoon.”

Pete smiled at Stitch’s discomfort with the word.

“Sounds good, Henry,” Pete agreed as he snuggled into Stitch’s arms. He could hear the wheels in Stitch’s head grinding, but Pete was too tired to talk.


	3. Chapter 3

Stitch’s kinkiness was a pretty consistent measure of his mental health. Happy Stitch liked to get his freak on a few times a month. He got kinkier as he got more anxious or depressed.

It had been three weeks since Stitch had tied Pete up. Pete couldn’t decide if it was a good, bad, or indifferent sign. It could be that Stitch was relaxed and happy, or it could be that he was quietly torturing himself by denying himself what he really wanted.

Pete pretended to read a magazine, but he was too antsy to pay attention. Stitch had his nose buried in a book about screenplay writing. He was re-working his script for Gel and obsessed with getting it just right. Pete watched Stitch frown at the book and mouth something to himself. Pete enjoyed going to the library with Stitch and watching him read. Stitch complained when he caught Pete staring, but he was usually too caught up in his research to notice. It made Pete think of going to the library with his mum when she’d gone back to school. She’d always looked so intense when she read. He would quietly entertain himself for hours until she noticed the time. When she’d invariably asked Pete why he didn’t remind her to do things like feed him or take him to the bathroom or the other boring tasks associated with mothering a small child, Pete had had no answer. Even when his tummy rumbled, he’d never wanted to interrupt his mother when she seemed so content. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d loved those times with his mum. 

And Pete loved to watch Stitch at work. He looked at home in the library, in his cream-colored sweater and with his curls sticking out in every direction. For all the time Stitch spent popping pills and having sex in gay nightclubs, the library scene better suited him. His pale skin looked like marble under the harsh lighting.

Pete tossed his magazine under the table and said, “Oops.”

Stitch barely glanced at him before going back to his book. Pete glanced around to make sure no one was watching and crawled under the table. There weren’t many people in the library and they were in a secluded area, but getting done for getting freaky in the library was not on.

Pete pushed apart Stitch’s knees and ran his hands along Stitch’s thighs.

“What are you… Oh.”

Pete stifled a giggle as he mouthed Stitch through his jeans before tackling his belt buckle. When Pete had managed to set Stitch’s cock free from its denim prison (with a little help from Stitch), he had an epiphany. Whether Pete was running his tongue along the tip of his cock or taking it down his throat like he was auditioning to be a Renaissance Faire sword swallower, Stitch was unable to react. Their not being arrested relied heavily on Stitch’s ability to remain neutral as Pete did his best to make Stitch’s eyes roll back in his head.

Pete finally felt like he got it. He enjoyed his play time with Stitch, but he never really understood it. Crouched on his knees under a table in the library, he felt powerful. He felt possessive of Stitch’s body and thrilled by his ability to make Stitch squirm, even as he desperately tried to stay still. The feeling of power was electrifying. Pete worked his own cock and ended up splattering his come on Stitch’s jeans when Stitch slipped and let out a quiet “fuck.”

Pete sucked Stitch in earnest until Stitch grabbed him by the hair and held his head still as he fucked Pete’s mouth. It only took a few strokes before Stitch filled Pete’s mouth with his hot come. Pete waited until Stitch peeked down to lick his lips and swallow. 

They made their best efforts to be both as fast as possible and totally casual as they packed up to beat a hasty retreat from the smell of semen and embarrassment. Pete smiled at Stitch’s bright red cheeks. It was usually Stitch who initiated their adventures, but Stitch was usually under the influence at the time. Sober Stitch was pretty reserved when it came to sex.

Pete liked seeing Stitch blush. It made him look softer and more touchable.

Pete gave Stitch a quick hug.

“Thank you, Henry.”

Pete noted Stitch’s physical reaction to hearing his actual name. Pete tried to disappear into his coat. He was nowhere near ready to tackle those feelings.

Stitch took Pete’s hand and kissed it.

“Thanks, Pete Sweet.”

Xxx

Pete said no the first time Stitch asked him to read his script. Eventually, Stitch talked him into it, promising he wouldn’t ask Pete any questions or make him summarize what he’d read. Pete didn’t have the greatest attention span, and Stitch’s script was long. 

He’d be humiliated if he didn’t understand it.

With trepidation, Pete locked himself in the bedroom with Stitch’s laptop. He immediately felt anxious looking at the screenplay format and the unfamiliar abbreviations, but when he started reading the story, he found it was easy to get caught up in the tale. It was about a man, Sam, entering middle-age, who began dating a much younger woman he met through a BDSM fetish site. Sam was obsessed with not being perceived as pathetic, and his self-consciousness drove him to ever more awkward moments as he tried to present himself as a knowledgeable man of the world. After attending a disappointingly banal sex party and running into his mother’s best mate, Mrs. Rooney, Sam decided to give up on the relationship entirely.

Pete ignored Stitch knocking at the door until Stitch jimmied the lock.

“Is it that bad?” Stitch asked with a pained expression.

“Why does he just leave her?” Pete asked. “She tried so hard, and he really seemed to like her.”

Pete wilted under Stitch’s knowing look, but he kept speaking.

“It’s just sad that she gets chucked like that. The rest of it’s really funny. It’s just a sad ending.”

Stitch sat on the bed and put his arms around Pete.

“She went through all the awkward bits, too. It’s not like it was easy for her or she didn’t feel silly sometimes, but she kept trying to make Sam happy, and then he just…”

Pete stopped when he felt tears coming on. He couldn’t cry over Stitch’s comedy.

Pete tried to push all his thoughts aside when Stitch kissed him. It was usually easy to forget about the real world when he was in bed with Stitch, but his mind kept wandering back to Stitch talking about moving out while Pete’s wrists were still red from being tied up.

“Want to talk about it?” Stitch asked. 

Pete used his thumb to rub out the worry lines on Stitch’s forehead and said, “Not really.”

Stitch looked concerned, but he allowed himself to be pulled down on top of Pete for a snog. Pete felt better with Stitch’s weight on him, holding him down. He felt safe.

“Tell me how to make you feel better.” Stitch pitched his voice low as he spoke, and it sent a tingle up Pete’s spine. “Anything you want.”

“I want you on top of me, inside of me, and as close as possible. Lots of kissing.”

Stitch stayed on top of Pete, kissing him as he used his long fingers to prepare Pete to be entered. Pete could tell Stitch was thinking hard, but had no idea what he was thinking about. Stitch was an enigma, and Pete was an open book. Pete wasn’t sure it was a good combination, but he couldn’t see a way around it. Stitch had good reason for his protective shields, and Pete wasn’t bright enough to be deep. 

Stitch never stopped kissing Pete for more than a few moments. They kept kissing as Stitch entered him and fucked him with long, slow thrusts. Stitch’s cock twitched when Pete whispered, “Oh, Henry.”

“Fuck me harder, Henry. Fuck me with that big, beautiful cock,” Pete held Stitch tight, keeping him close so Pete’s cock rubbed against Stitch’s belly as they made love. “Make me come for you.”

Stitch groaned as he tried to shag Pete right through the mattress. Stitch loved it when Pete talked in bed, even if he had a pretty limited vocabulary. It was the only place where Pete’s constant chattiness was a good thing.

Pete closed his eyes tight and focused on the feeling of Stitch’s cock against his prostate and the feeling of being stretched and filled until he came hard. Stitch kept kissing him as Pete spent himself between their bodies. 

“Come inside me,” Pete pleaded. “I love the way it feels when you come inside of me.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. He watched Stitch make his beautifully ridiculous come face, and he felt so much love for the man inside of him that it almost hurt, like there wasn’t enough room in his body for all the feelings. 

Stitch stayed on top and inside of Pete as they exchanged gentle kisses, and then Pete burst into tears. Henry held him tight as Pete sobbed. 

“I know, Pete,” Henry said in a soothing tone. “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Pete had no idea what Henry was talking about, but he felt calmed by his words. As long as Henry knew what was going on, they’d be fine.

Xxx

Pete awoke in an empty bed, but his surge of panic was short-lived. Henry’s laptop was open on the bed. 

He blinked at the bright screen and saw that Stitch had added to the ending of the film. When Sam chucked his younger girlfriend, Andy, she freaked out about being dumped while dressed like “Catwoman fallen on hard times” and asked Sam to find her inhaler. As Sam searched through her black bag, an item he had fetishized throughout the film as a mysterious and feminine vessel, he found that in addition to her toys, prophylactics, and lubricants, she also kept the bag stocked with first aid supplies and asthma and allergy medicine. Sam was newly intrigued by Andy’s neuroticism and asked for a do-over. 

Andy and Sam were comparing anti-anxiety meds when Stitch walked back into the room.

“I was just getting some soup,” Stitch explained, holding up his bowl. He’d been living almost entirely off of Pete’s homemade soups for weeks. It made Pete nervous, being responsible for Stitch’s nutrition. Pete did his best to hit all the food groups so Stitch stayed healthy until he went back to eating takeaway once in a while. 

“I was reading the new ending… Is that okay?”

Stitch gave a tight smile. “That depends on what you think.”

“I love it. It’s sweet and funny and…” Pete was out of words. He wasn’t sure how to convey how much he enjoyed the new ending. It was still dark and edgy, but there was hope and romance in the new ending.

Stitch stared hard at his soup and his cheeks turned pink. “I’m still working on happy endings. They don’t come easily to me.”

Xxx

 

Once Gel had begun the process of casting, Pete had figured Stitch would calm down. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Amazingly, Stitch was actually worse once the script had been finalized. Gel clearly respected Stitch’s opinion, but Stitch wasn’t so much flattered as immobilized with fear. Normally, Pete let Stitch drag him out of bed in the morning and force him to get to the kiosk on time, but now their roles had reversed. Stitch would lie in bed and stare at his beeping alarm as it got louder and louder until Pete physically pulled him out of his cocoon of blankets. He gave Stitch clothes to wear and fed him breakfast and drove him to work on his scooter, the only place where Stitch seemed himself. 

“You should write something else,” Pete suggested during one of the many lulls at the kiosk. “You could write about us, you know, working in a kiosk. Talking to customers… eating sandwiches…”

Pete couldn’t think of a third thing. There was really nothing interesting about working at the kiosk, other than being with Stitch and meeting new people. 

“Someone already made that movie and called it Clerks,” Stitch replied with a hint of a smile. 

Pete tried to think of another idea, but he had no idea what kind of things Stitch was interested in writing. He seemed to fancy writing exaggerated versions of his own foibles, but Pete didn’t dare suggest Stitch write about his substance abuse, Charles, or his anxiety about being gay. Stitch had called Pete an enabler, so Pete had looked the word up and had to admit Stitch had him dead to rights. He turned his back when Stitch added whiskey to his coffee and pretended not to notice when Stitch took a break from the kiosk and returned suddenly full of energy and with an apparently itchy nose or glassy-eyed and lethargic. Stitch was easier to deal with when he was self-medicating. Drunk or high, Stitch was chatty and let Pete in on what was really going on in his head. Of course, Pete couldn’t bring any of those topics up when Stitch was sober, or he’d get paranoid and more closed-off than usual. So Pete pretended not to know that Stitch had changed his phone number so his parents couldn’t reach him and ask uncomfortable questions, but that he’d already relented and given the new number to Charles, who was contacting him nearly every day. When Stitch spent the night talking about how much he didn’t want to wake up the next morning, or ever again, Pete tucked his fear away and hoped that the thoughts of suicide went away when Stitch was sober. 

In bed, he called Stitch by his real name. The rest of the day, Pete tried to avoid calling him anything, but of course Stitch noticed. If Pete tried to use a term of endearment to avoid saying ‘Stitch,’ Stitch would reply by calling Pete ‘mate’ or ‘you, with the hair.’ If Pete and Stitch could live on a desert island, things would be perfect between them, but there were so many people and so many expectations that they had to live with. Stitch was afraid he was wasting his life, but all Pete had ever wanted was someone to come home to. With Stitch, Pete had everything he needed. He didn’t need Stitch to be a knight in shining armor; he just needed someone who loved him and made him feel happy. For all his sadness, Stitch was quirky and funny and he liked to fuck in public, but he went red and awkward when Pete kissed him on the cheek in private. He was perfect.

“I really like you, Stitch.” Pete said it because it was on his mind. “I like being around you. Even without the sexy stuff, even before I realized I was ready to actually be with a guy, I just liked being around you.”

“You still have trouble calling me Henry. I can’t make you that happy.”

“You make me nervous! That don’t mean I ain’t happy!”

Pete immediately felt silly, but Stitch wrapped his arms around Pete’s waist and began to sway.

“Let me take you dancing tonight,” Stitch purred. “I promise I’ll be fun and not totally stressful.”

“Just a little stressful?”

“I am who I am.”

“Popeye?”

Pete laughed as Stitch bent him over at the waist and held him in a headlock, threatening his “mop you call hair.” Stitch was complicated, but he made Pete happy, and that was all that really mattered.


	4. Chapter 4

Stitch grinned when Pete suggested they go to the Lucky Star. Since becoming aware of Stitch being jealous of Pete’s time with Daisy, he’d been sticking to gay bars, where there was less chance he’d end up chatting with a lady. When he tried to pull, he was awkward and shy, but now that he was with Stitch, Pete found it was well easy to talk to girls and he didn’t want to accidentally make Stitch feel jealous or insecure. 

That they might end up back in a bathroom stall together was also a draw.

It was a good crowd for a Wednesday. Stitch immediately spotted Dave and excused himself to go make sure his drug-addled friend was aware he was in a gay bar. Pete was grateful to Dave for making Poppy possible, but he was curious about how he and Stitch had remained friends. Even Pete thought Dave was an odd duck, but Stitch clearly cared about him a great deal. Dave was one of Stitch’s suppliers, but Stitch had plenty of people to buy drugs from. Pete wondered what it was about the strange and surely certifiable Dave that had made Stitch hang on to his friendship for so many years. Pete was watching Stitch talk to Dave (and admiring Stitch’s arse from a distance) when someone offered him a drink.

Pete took the beer, said “Cheers,” and took a swig before realizing he probably should have demurred.

“That’s my boyfriend. Lover. That’s my Stitch!” Pete explained as he pointed towards Stitch in an effort to be clear he was not on the market. “He’s just talking to his mate.”

The man smiled and said, “I know all about you and Stitch. You make quite a couple.”

There was something about the way the man spoke that made Pete uncomfortable. He smiled weakly at the stranger and was struck by something familiar about his face.

“Have we met?” Pete asked. “I’m terrible with names and faces and voices and all that.”

“I’ve seen you around,” the man leered, and Pete suddenly recognized the eyes. He’d seen them peeking through the bathroom stall, the last time Pete and Stitch had been getting intimate in a bathroom stall.

Pete was rarely at a loss for words, but he had no idea what to say to someone who had watched him having sex. There were plenty of people all over London who’d stumbled across Pete having sex, but they usually took the polite route and didn’t try to make conversation.

“I’m not trying to get between you and your boyfriend. Believe me, I think you make a cute couple. You look good together.”

Pete felt uncomfortable with the flirtatious tone and the way the man’s eyes kept moving over Pete’s body, but he wasn’t sure he had any right to act put off. It wasn’t like he and Stitch hadn’t been perfectly aware that other people could watch them. People just weren’t supposed to talk to them about it afterwards.

“My name’s Arthur,” the man said as he held out his hand. Pete awkwardly shook his hand, feeling uncomfortable with even that level of physical intimacy. He looked for Stitch, but his partner had disappeared into the crowd.

“Think he followed Dave into the men’s room,” Arthur observed. “Does anyone actually use that bathroom for its intended use?”

Pete tried to laugh, but he was unsettled. He wanted to be with Stitch, but he didn’t want to walk in on him doing lines or whatever he was getting up to. He was only supposed to know about the drugs Stitch took openly. That was part of their unspoken agreement. 

“Stitch really likes to party,” Arthur observed with a bland smile. “Do you like to party, Pete Sweet?”

“Why do you know my name?”

“I work with Charles,” Arthur explained, adding, “Stitch’s ex?” as though there could be any doubt.

“Charles needs to stop worrying about Stitch and start worrying ‘bout himself,” Pete snapped. 

Arthur nodded sympathetically. “He’s pretty obsessed. He has control issues, and Stitch is someone he could never quite get under his thumb. Those things eat at Charles.”

From where Pete was standing, Charles still had Stitch at least a little under his thumb. He didn’t have Stitch pinned, but he was sure getting in the way of Stitch moving on.

“Why can’t he just find someone else?” Pete asked. “Why can’t he just let Stitch be happy and find someone who cares about his expensive car and all that noise?”

Arthur laughed a worldly laugh. “Charles loves the chase and so does Henry. Guys like that are happier playing their games than actually being in relationships.”

“Stitch don’t like games,” Pete argued, though he immediately realized it was a lie. Stitch did like games, just not the kind where people got hurt for real. 

“Charles says the sex just gets hotter and hotter to more Henry tries to play like he isn’t interested. I mean, the sex got hotter,” Arthur corrected himself. “Obviously, Stitch has moved on.”

Pete was fairly certain Stitch hadn’t slept with Charles since he and Pete had become a couple, but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry about Stitch being unfaithful. There was obviously a reason why Stitch felt the need to keep in contact with Charles after all they’d been through. Pete never asked what they talked about, because there was no answer that would put Pete’s mind at ease. 

Pete drained his drink, said thank you, and walked away. Arthur tried to follow him and continued talking, so Pete stepped onto the dance floor and started moving. He didn’t object when Arthur joined him, but he assertively refused to let Arthur touch him. Pete dearly needed Stitch to appear and rescue him from his unwanted companion, and more importantly, from the unwanted thoughts he couldn’t get out of his head. It was easy to forgive Stitch when he was looking at his earnest face. Stitch could be an arsehole, but he so sincerely wanted to be a good person.

Pete saw Dave on the edge of the dance floor and waved, eager for a third wheel. Dave made a beeline for Pete, who had never seen Dave looking so serious before. His stomach dropped into his shoes. Before Dave reached him, Pete heard the first murmurs. He heard snippets of conversations about the police arriving, the need to get rid of any drugs on the premises, and the words that sent a wave of terror through Pete’s body.

“Some bloke collapsed in the men’s.”

“Overdose.”

“Is he dead?”

“Probably OD’d.”

“The police will be here.”

“Is he breathing?”

“OD’d in the men’s room.”

“Pete!” Dave yelled. “It’s Stitch.”

Xxx

Pete ran to the men’s room and Dave helped push him through the crowd. Stitch was on the ground, his normally pale skin completely devoid of color. He wasn’t moving.

Charles was yelling at Stitch to wake up and slapping his cheeks. Pete dropped to his knees by the larger man and took Stitch’s cold wrist and checked for a pulse. It was weak, but there. 

“He needs something to keep him warm.” Pete heard the words at a distance, as though he hadn’t spoken them. He lay down next to Stitch and held him until the professionals arrived. 

Xxx

Pete was wrapped in a blanket and people kept asking him questions as though he were the one in need of medical attention. He occasionally heard Stitch’s voice, slurred and hard to understand, but proof that he was still alive and capable of speech.

He heard bits and pieces of what Charles was telling the medics, and he felt a distant anger at the clearly self-serving spin Charles was putting on the facts. Pete was able to piece together that Stitch had been afraid he’d taken too much coke and ‘someone’ had given him some heroin to bring him down. Then, while Charles and Stitch were “messing around,” Stitch had suddenly dropped to the floor, unresponsive. 

Pete stood up on shaky legs and walked towards Charles.

“Did you do this?” he asked. His voice sounded far away and strange, like it was echoing through a tunnel. 

Charles was waving his arms and talking far too loudly.

“Did you do this?” Pete repeated. “He could die, Charles. Did you do this to him? Was this another one of your little games?”

Pete’s next memory was of sitting on the pavement outside of the club, strands of Charles’s perfect hair in his hands.

Xxx

After demonstrating he was completely calm and not going to attack anyone else twice his size, Pete was allowed to ride with Stitch to the hospital. Stitch was groggy and confused, so Pete just held his hand and promised everything would be all right. He didn’t know what else to say.

Xxx

Pete stayed with Stitch for hours, until Stitch’s parents arrived. He’d never met them before, but he recognized them right away. Mrs. Dulcy hugged him and asked, “Why?” over and over until Mr. Dulcy pulled her away. She quickly regained her composure in a way that was so Stitch-like, it cut Pete to the core. She then insisted Pete get something to eat, pointing out that he was already thin enough to be threaded through a needle.

Pete ordered a bland soup from the hospital cafeteria and forced it down his throat. He wished his grandmother were still alive. He would have loved one of her soups. They were like getting a hug from the inside. Henry insisted her soups couldn’t have been better than Pete’s, but that was because Henry had never tasted the real thing. As Mrs. Dulcy pointed out, Pete barely had any substance to him, and yet he was left to carry on after his grandmother had passed. He remained to carry on her legacy and Jane’s, and it didn’t seem fair. They had been such big, vibrant people, and Pete was a wisp of a person, battered by the wind and incapable of being grounded. 

Stitch had seemed like the perfect person to ground him. He’d been shocked to learn of Stitch’s self-destructive ways, because everything about him screamed, “boringly safe and practical.” Of course, Pete had been drawn to Stitch’s sadness. He should have known he couldn’t save Stitch. He’d been foolish to think he was strong enough to save anyone from anything.

He was trying to take his time and give Stitch’s parents some space, but Mr. Dulcy came for him after less than an hour and said, “Henry would like to speak to you.”

Xxx

Mrs. Dulcy cheerfully told Stitch she’d be back shortly and burst into silent tears in the hallway.

Pete peeked his head in and found Stitch looking sleepy, but almost like himself. 

Stitch held his hand out to Pete, who ran across the room to grab it and hold it tight.

Stitch’s voice was unnaturally hoarse and quiet, but he spoke slowly and clearly.

“I’m so sorry, Pete.”

Pete was careful when he hugged Stitch, not wanting to dislodge any of the wires attached to him.

“Please believe, it wasn’t on purpose,” Stitch continued.

Pete thought of Charles saying, “We were… messing around a bit…”

“I know what you went through with Jane,” Stitch continued. “I would never put you through that on purpose. I am so sorry, Pete.”

Maybe it should have occurred to Pete that the overdose was intentional, but it truly hadn’t. He knew Stitch was reckless with his well-being and was slowly killing himself, but he was certain that if Stitch were going to off himself, there wouldn’t be witnesses or anyone to interfere. If Stitch tried to kill himself, he would do it meticulously, and Pete wouldn’t have a chance to stop him. Pete knew that the way he knew the sky was blue and that Adam Ant was a god.

“I know all that,” Pete cooed. “Just rest. You gave me a fright.”

Stitch’s arms felt weak around his back, and it was upsetting. Stitch always felt solid.

He propped Stitch’s head up with pillows and did his best to make his partner comfortable while Stitch looked on with an indulgent smile. He was clearly ready to sleep but kept shaking his head and trying to fight it off.

“Sleep, Henry. We’ll talk about all this when you’re ready.”

Henry blinked hard and whispered, “I won’t fuck up again,” before falling asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The Dulcys, Marie and Edward, stayed at Pete and Stitch’s flat. They took the bed, while Pete and the puppies took the couch. Captain sniffed Stitch’s shoes and whined, while Beefheart never left Pete’s lap. Pete tried to explain that Stitch would be back and everything was fine, but the dogs seemed unconvinced. Pete wondered if they knew something he didn’t. It seemed like everyone was in on some secret from which he’d been excluded.

Pete had expected Stitch’s parents to be hung up on Pete being a man, but they were warm and supportive. Edward was quiet, but he made small talk about the dogs and Pete’s cooking. Marie was also reserved, but compared to her husband, she was a chatterbox. They never talked about why they were there, but they often talked about Stitch. Pete ate up every story of Stitch’s youth and was thrilled when Marie produced a photo album. There was even a picture of Stitch and his lesbian “girlfriend.”

“Honestly,” Marie sighed, “the only thing they had in common was that they were both in total denial. It was sad, really.”

From Marie, Pete learned that Stitch has always been a “troubled soul” who took everything too hard.

“He was always so bright and handsome and so intelligent and so talented, but he never believed. Even as a little boy, he never believed he was good enough.”

Pete held Marie while she cried and Edward looked painfully uncomfortable.

xxx

When Pete and the Dulcys returned to the hospital, they were surprised to learn Henry had been transferred to the psychiatric ward. Pete was prepared for the worst, but he found Stitch looking downright cheerful in his hospital-issued bathrobe. He explained that he’d been transferred of his own accord.

“I need to get my head on straight,” Stitch explained as he twitched and shifted in his seat. “I’m too old for this bullsh- this nonsense. Sorry, Mum. I have committed to thirty days of sobriety and I’m going to give everything a chance and get better and… I’m so mortified. I feel like such a tit. Sorry, Mum.”

Henry’s father spoke for the first time. “Heroin? Why? I just can’t…”

“Edward!” Marie snapped. “We’re here to support Henry.”

“I don’t do heroin,” Stitch said firmly. He was less self-assured as he continued, “I do coke sometimes. The psychiatrist thinks I might have some sensory issues… The point is, I got some cocaine from Dave. Shit. Sorry, Mum.”

“I knew that boy was on something,” Edward said quietly. “That whole family was on something.”

“So don’t go telling everyone, but yes, Dave gave me some cocaine, and he warned me that it was really pure and to go easy, but then I heard Charles and I got anxious and I took too much…”

Marie scowled at the mention of Charles.

“Charles? That two-timing piece of you-know-what?”

Stitch gave a tight smile. “That Charles. Anyway, I was stupid and I don’t know if I was O.D.ing on the coke or just having a panic attack, but Charles shoved some heroin in my face and told me it would help, and then everything went black.”

“Why would you trust anything from him? You know he’s a liar and a creep,” Marie was clearly torn between wanting to be soothing and her loathing of Charles. “It could have been anything.”

“We’re sort of friends now,” Stitch explained, while staring anywhere but at the people in front of him. “Can I have a moment with Pete? Please?”

Xxx

Pete stared at a soothing mural on the wall as Stitch explained that, as far as his parents knew, the first time Charles had cheated on Henry was the end of their relationship.

“I don’t want them to know how pathetic I am,” Stitch said bluntly. “I’d prefer they stay in the dark on that one, if you don’t mind.”

Pete wondered if the soothing mural had been created for its purpose, or if someone had just seen it and thought it would be good for a psych ward.

“Do you mind?” Stitch asked quietly. “Because you can tell my parents the truth. Tell them anything you want. I’m in no position to ask you for favors.”

Pete shook his head. “I won’t tell them anything, Stitch.”

He wished he and Stitch could be alone, without any staff quietly observing them. He wanted to crawl into Stitch’s lap. He was too far away from Stitch to feel properly safe or secure.

“Please look at me, Pete.”

Pete wanted to look at Stitch; he just couldn’t seem to get his brain to calm down, no matter how hard he stared at the soothing image.

“When Charles first asked me out, I was so flattered. He was so far out of my league in every way and tried so hard to impress me back then. I wasn’t used to that much attention, so I fucked up and I was an arsehole, and then he found other people…”

Pete couldn’t look Stitch in the eye, but he reached out for one of his hands. Stitch had beautiful, long-fingered hands that made Pete’s look tiny and childish. 

“Charles’s mate thinks you both like games.”

“What mate?”

Pete felt strangely guilty. If he’d gone looking for Stitch instead of dutifully living in denial, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe not. If Dave’s coke was too strong for Stitch, it would have knocked Pete on his ass. He still remembered the first time he’d tried poppers with Stitch. He’d been completely off his tits and terribly confused by how it had made him feel. He’d already had a crush on Stitch, but the poppers had made him want Stitch with a kind of desperation he had never felt before. 

“Some bloke named Arthur.” Stitch frowned at the name, but Pete continued. “He bought me a beer and was kind of chatting me up, I guess.”

Stitch muttered “motherfucker” under his breath. Pete took it as a sign to continue.

“He said Charles was after you because he couldn’t control you, and…” He couldn’t repeat the hint that Charles and Stitch were still sleeping together, and there wasn’t much else to say.

“He must have sent Arthur to distract you,” Stitch mused. “But why? So he could give me heroin? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I think he just wanted to get you alone in the men’s room, Stitch. Pretty sure his creepy mate was the one watching us the last time we…” Pete glanced at the staff member who was trying very hard to pretend not to listen. He lowered his voice and continued, “I don’t know how much of this he planned or what he knew…”

That was the real question. There was only so much of the evening that Charles could have manipulated on his own. Had he seen Stitch and made a move, or had he come to the club knowing Stitch would be there? Maybe even that Dave would be there and holding.

Pete waited for Stitch to speak, but after what felt like a long silence, he finally looked directly at Stitch, who was staring off into space with a familiar but unreadable expression on his face.

“What is it, Stitch?”

“I told him where we were going to be. I didn’t even think about it. Charles doesn’t give a shit about me, but he would love to see me ruin what I have with you. It would make his day to see me fuck this up.”

“Pretty sure he does give a shit, Stitch.”

Pete looked into Stitch’s eyes and willed the older man to say something that would make everything okay. 

“Have I fucked this up? I know I have, but… irreparably?” Stitch asked. He looked so painfully sad that Pete forgot about acting like a civilized adult and jumped into Stitch’s lap.

“I’m the poster boy for codependence,” Pete reminded him. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Xxx

It was nice having Stitch’s folks around. Pete hadn’t seen his Mum since two Christmases earlier. She had married a philanthropist and they traveled the world, advocating for the downtrodden. Pete was proud of his mother and stepfather, but he envied Stitch having his parents so available. Pete was aware his birth had been an unexpected surprise that had taken his mother off track from her ambitions. Stitch, on the other hand, had been very much wanted. Marie said it had taken three years of trying to get Stitch. Pete found it fitting that, even before conception, Stitch had played hard to get. If Stitch were a manipulator like Charles, the world would surely be at his feet. 

“You should open a restaurant,” Edward suggested after tasting Pete’s lemon pancakes with blueberry compote. 

“My gram had a restaurant. It was really hard work.”

Pete had never had a father, but he recognized the intense “dadness” of his expression and tone as he spoke. “Never be afraid of hard work, son. Nothing worth having comes easy in this world.”

“Don’t lecture the boy,” Marie tsked. “He’s been through enough.”

“S’all right, Mrs. Dulcy. He’s right. I had to work hard to get Stitch.”

Marie’s eyes welled up and she gave Pete a tight hug before excusing herself. Alone with Stitch’s father, Pete wished he were up to date on some football scores. Henry wasn’t much of a fan, so Pete didn’t watch nearly as much sports as he used to. Stitch gamely watched any event Pete was excited about and he tried very hard to be interested. Overall, Pete preferred just snuggling up on the couch with Stitch while he watched his documentaries. It didn’t really matter what they were about; Stitch would watch them all, and Pete was learning a lot of strange things, like how to tickle a shark unconscious. It was part of how they mated. The male would knock the female out so she couldn’t run away and then mated with her. He’d made Stitch laugh by calling sharks the “Charles of the sea.”

“I hope my son appreciates you,” Edward said in an oddly formal tone. 

Pete blushed from head to toe and mumbled, “He does.”

He knew Stitch appreciated him. No one had ever been so loving and attentive to Pete before. 

“If he ever forgets, you let me know and I’ll have a talk with him.”

Pete wanted to cry, but he didn’t dare blubber in front of Stitch’s dad after the man had clearly put a lot of effort into expressing himself. Seeing how reserved his folks were, Pete had a whole new appreciation of Stitch. 

“I’m the one who’s lucky, sir. Henry’s amazing.”

Edward gave a sad smile and said, “I don’t know why Henry was with this Charles person, after all he went through…”

“They’re just mates,” Pete interjected too quickly. “But I reckon Charles never really got over Stitch—I mean, Henry. That’s not Henry’s fault.”

Pete’s brain produced images of Stitch and Charles kissing and more than kissing in the men’s room, faster than Pete could push them away.

“I’m sure you have plenty of ex-boyfriends that Henry doesn’t want sniffing around. Don’t let him hedge his bets.”

“I ain’t got any ex-boyfriends. I have an ex-girlfriend that Stitch don’t like me talking to, but she’s pretty crazy and she just likes me as her gay best friend now, and there’s…”

Pete trailed off when he remembered Henry’s family knew all about Poppy. They (hopefully) didn’t know about Pete’s relationship with her, but they knew Dave’s eccentric family.

Edward looked surprised, and Pete wondered if he was surprised Stitch was dating a bisexual or if he was just really surprised Pete wasn’t the poofiest poofter to ever poof. Other than a few crushes, Pete had viewed himself as heterosexual until he’d met Henry, and yet everyone seemed to think he’d always really been gay. Henry said it was because people dismissed bisexuality, but Pete had a feeling that it also had to do with his general lack of manliness. It was funny, because Stitch was the least gay-seeming person Pete had ever met. Some days, Stitch didn’t even comb his hair. He just looked at it, shrugged, and went about his day as though nothing else could be done.

“Charles is bad for Henry. I’m scared Henry might go back to him.”

Pete wasn’t sure why he’d said it, but he felt lighter for saying it out loud.

Edward put a soothing hand on Pete’s shoulder and said, “I don’t know what is going on with my son right now, but I can promise you that he will always care more about breakfast than fancy suits and cars.”

Xxx

Pete fought the urge to shift about in his seat and tried to look like a proper adult in front of Stitch’s therapist. Stitch really admired her and thought she was extremely intelligent and insightful, which was odd because Henry generally though people were idiots. Stitch’s admiration for and faith in the therapist made Pete nervous. He wasn’t sure how well he was going to come across to a mental health professional. He might end up taking Stitch’s place.

“Henry is going to be released tomorrow,” she began, “and he wants to really start off on the right foot, especially with you. Is that correct, Henry?”

Stitch nodded, but avoided Pete’s eyes.

“What would you like to say to Pete?”

Stitch pulled out a handful of papers from the pocket of his dressing gown.

“Um… So, first off, sober for thirty days and taking an anti-depressant, and I have some anti-anxiety medications for emergencies. I won’t have enough to overdose with. Um… Then here is my plan for not being drunk or high all the time.”

He handed Pete a list written in Stitch’s meticulously neat and tiny handwriting. Stitch had created a detailed list of how often and when he would indulge in his various addictions. No drinking before 8pm, cocaine twice a year, poppers only when Pete wanted to use them, heroin with a big x through it.

“You are mental, Stitch,” Pete laughed, before remembering they were in fact in a psychiatric ward. “No, for real, I just mean… you know.”

Stitch smiled warmly and shrugged. “I need concrete limits. And that leads me to this.”

Henry handed Pete another piece of paper with the passwords to his ‘professional’ and personal e-mail accounts and the voicemail on his mobile.

“I don’t know what you heard, but I want you to know that I had no intention of seeing Charles that night, and what he said…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Pete said as a panic rose in his stomach.

“I’m a bit hazy, but what I remember is Charles being way too close and making me panic, and then I took the heroin and… I felt like my body was just shutting down. I don’t know what happened, but I was not an active participant.”

“Oh, Henry,” Pete sighed. He scooted his chair closer to Stitch and put his head on Stitch’s shoulder.

“I wasn’t looking for anything with Charles… but I realize that I put those wheels in motion by keeping contact with him.”

“I’m going to rip his eyeballs out so he can see what at arsehole he is.”

Stitch gave a weak smile. “I want you to look at everything. I don’t want any more secrets, not about Charles. Read every e-mail, listen to the voicemails, you can go through my mobile and read the texts. I want you to know the truth.”

“I don’t want to read your e-mails…”

“I want you to. I want you to know everything, so you can decide how you want to move forward.”

Pete’s hand trembled as he held the piece of paper. 

“I have never cheated on you… To my mind, I have never cheated on you, but I have crossed lines, and there are things that are going to upset you and maybe change your mind about our relationship…”

“I won’t change my mind, Stitch! I love you!”

Stitch looked very firm and serious. “Pete Sweet, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and the last thing I want is to lose you. I want to grow old with you. My parents adore you. I can either keep fucking this up until I drive you away or I run away myself, or I can face this head-on and actually try for once.”

Henry looked so stripped bare, Pete wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and take him back to their flat, where the world generally made sense. 

“You could never drive me away.”

“Then you at least need to know what you’re getting into,” Stitch said firmly.


	6. Chapter 6

All of Stitch’s passwords were combinations of Pete’s name and birthday. Pete smiled at Stitch’s sappiness. Pete checked his own e-mail, bought a few t-shirts from an online shop, ordered dog food with a coupon for free delivery, and finally, he logged into Stitch’s personal e-mail. He searched for e-mails from Charles and was stunned to find hundreds that had been sent just since Stitch and Pete had moved in together. There were months where all of Charles’s e-mails were marked unread, and Pete found himself reading the headings of the e-mails to try and figure out why Stitch sometimes responded to Charles and other times had ignored him. He wanted to understand the hold Charles had on Stitch. He wanted to see the magic and understand it.

Pete read the most recent e-mail.

“Lucky Star? I know you’ll have a good time there! ;^P”

Pete wanted to slap the emoticon, but he continued down the e-mail to read the whole exchange. There was nothing remarkable, other than Stitch saying he planned to take Pete dancing because “I’ve been a miserable git and he deserves a good time.”

Pete felt deeply unsettled by the familiarity of the e-mail. It wasn’t flirtatious, but it had the feeling of two old friends, rather than a man and his abusive ex. Stitch always played down how badly he’d been treated by his ex, but it was still alarming to see how friendly he was with Charles.

There were no e-mails from Stitch confirming they would be at the Lucky Star, so Pete looked at Stitch’s phone. There was a text from Charles saying, “Lucky Star?” and a response from Stitch saying, “Piss off,” followed by another winky face from Charles. 

Pete sighed and slumped in his chair. He had a feeling going through Stitch’s e-mails was going to be like the time they’d watched The Seventh Seal. There was clearly meaning there, but Pete wasn’t going to be able to decipher it, not without Stitch’s help.

“I don’t think Stitch is going to be very helpful in this case.”

Pete chewed his lip and stared at the screen. He desperately wanted help, but he wasn’t sure it would be right.

“Tell me what’s troubling you,” she said gently. “I know we had some tough times, but we have history, right? And I have known Stitch for ages.”

Pete looked back at Poppy, sitting on the futon where Pete liked to sit and watch Henry work. She wasn’t traditionally pretty, but her freckled face was like a ray of sunshine that always put Pete at ease. 

“How am I supposed to know if Stitch wanted Charles to show up at Lucky Star that night or not? He said he didn’t think anything of telling Charles, but that’s not even what happened. Charles guessed and Stitch didn’t say no and he said piss off, but was it for real? Charles didn’t think it was real. How am I supposed to know what to believe?”

“First of all,” Poppy began gently, “I doubt that Stitch knows much more than you. He was probably pissed when he wrote most of these messages, and you know how chatty he can be when he’s out of his head.”

“Maybe he can only tell the truth when he’s too pissed to care,” Pete wondered sadly. “He tells me all kinds of things when he’s drunk that he won’t say when he’s sober.”

“Like all those times he told you about his girlfriends?” Poppy teased. “Remember how confused you used to be by all the things he’d tell you? Sometimes he tells you the truth and sometimes he tells lies that he thinks will protect him. It’s not so different from when he’s sober. He just talks a lot more when he’s in his cups.”

Pete pulled his knees up to his chin and thought about Poppy’s words. It was true, of course. In the early days Stitch had been just as likely to create elaborate back stories for his imaginary girlfriends as he was to call Pete a beautiful angel. It had taken months to work out what Stitch really wanted.

Not that Pete had ever really understood what Stitch wanted; he’d just figured out that it wasn’t a girl.

“Don’t worry so much about what he says,” Poppy suggested. “You’ll figure out what he really means eventually.”

Pete wanted to hug Poppy, but it felt like a step too far. If he was going to bring Poppy into the situation, there had to be clear boundaries, especially while Stitch was in a fragile state.

“You never thought it would be Stitch in the mental hospital, now did you?” Poppy teased.

Pete stopped trying to analyze every message and just read. Most of the messages were banal. Charles was always recommending a film or a book that he thought Stitch would appreciate. Compliments were peppered into the messages, to remind Stitch that he was clever and sophisticated, and there was the occasional subtle dig at Pete that was usually greeted with extended silence. Weeks or months would go by where Stitch didn’t respond to Charles’s messages, but then there would be a typo-filled, barely coherent message that Stitch had clearly written while off his tits that would open up the line of communication.

“I had a hermit crab when I wsa a nippr and all you had to do was hold you hand out straight an it would walk around but I always gto nervus and sueezed and it would pinche me and I’d drop it. That’s me. I can’t love somthing without crushing itt.”

Pete’s eyes filled with tears as he read the anecdote, but he soon turned furious when he read Charles’s response.

“Henry, baby, you’re too hard on yourself. It isn’t all you. Hermit crabs are cute in their way, but they are tiny and easily scared. You need someone strong who can handle you. You need someone big and strong who makes you feel safe and who won’t be crushed every time you get spiky and mean. Remember our first date? You spent half the night making fun of my designer clothes and ‘posh’ lifestyle. You couldn’t scare me away then and you can’t scare me now.”

Pete turned to Poppy. “If my hands were big enough to wrap around his huge fucking neck, I’d throttle him. He’s so full of shit.”

“Keep reading, Pete.”

Pete had trouble reading Stitch’s response, but every time he tried to look away, Poppy reminded him that he needed to keep going if he really wanted answers.

“I do remember night. You asked if I wanted to grab something to eat after workand then took me to some posh fucking plce and I wsa in fucking trainers because you pickd me up at the fucking kiosk and I felt stupid and embarrassed and you kept pouring whiskey down throat all night long until you talked me into giving you a blowei without a johnny when I didn’t want to but everything was so expsnive I felt lik I couldn’t say no and you grabbed my hair so couldn’t move and came in my mouth and lughed when I called you a fucker. Yeah. I remember our fist date, fucker.”

Pete found one of Henry’s sweaters and put it on, tucking his whole body inside before he read Charles’s response, as though the sweater could protect him from Charles’s toxicity.

“It that how you remember it? You don’t remember how hard I tried to impress you or how I tried to match you drink for drink so you wouldn’t think I was too dainty for you? I know I made mistakes, but I just wanted to be with you and be the kind of guy that could be with someone like you…”

Reading Charles’s sober, cold calculation next to Stitch’s drunken, emotional rant made Pete feel physically ill. He still didn’t feel like he truly understood what was going on, but he could see how Charles had gotten a second date after sexually assaulting Stitch on the first. Everything Stitch said, Charles turned around so it was all about how Stitch was aloof, unattainable, and snobbish, and how really, it was Charles that was too drunk to make decisions because he was trying to keep up with Stitch. It was always Stitch’s fault, but worded in a way that made it seem like Charles was expressing admiration rather than passing blame. 

“No wonder he’s in a mental hospital,” Poppy observed sadly from her safe distance. “Charles really knows how to go after his weak spots.”

“Even I could see Henry was lonely and needed a friend, and I’m a complete nutter.” Pete rubbed his face on the stiff material of Stitch’s sweater. It wasn’t soft or comfortable; it was stiff and scratchy, just like its owner.

“Maybe Charles thought he could be a friend to Henry, but… he’s a huge arsehole.”

Pete laughed and Poppy shrugged and continued. “I don’t know who broke Charles, but he’s not our problem, is he?”

Pete wiped the tears from his eyes and went back to reading. He read until the sky started to lighten and his eyes were burning. He’d gone further back than he probably should have, back before Pete and Henry were even friends, but he couldn’t stop. When he wavered, Poppy gently pushed him to continue. He made Poppy close her eyes when he came across pictures or videos that Charles had sent, even though she rightly pointed out Pete and Henry had invited her into their bedroom before – though only as an observer.

But it wasn’t the nudity or the sex acts in the images that were too private for Poppy to see—it was the vulnerability. There were surely plenty of sexy pics Charles had taken where Henry didn’t look ready to pass out or throw himself off of a bridge, but Charles clearly had a kink for miserable Stitch.

“I know what you think, but you’ll never know how beautiful you were to me when you found out about Sarah. It was like you finally took off the mask and I could see your bruised soul…”

“It was so sexy how you would come to me, all drunk off your tits and stumbling, and just trust me to make you feel good…”

“I’m happy for you and Pete. I won’t pretend not to miss all those times you came to me, crying in your beer over your unfuckable little angel…”

All the abuse, infidelity, and rape was romanticized, like Charles and Henry were living in an American soap opera. There was a video of Henry, swaying on his knees and looking ill, saying, “I love him so much” in a small voice before giving Charles a half-hearted blowie. 

Pete didn’t have to say a word. Poppy understood everything.

“You couldn’t have known,” she said. “You tried to keep Henry from Charles, but you couldn’t have known how bad it was.”

Pete saw all the bruises and rope burns that Charles found sexy. He read through all the texts and e-mails where Charles begged Henry for a second chance, and went earlier to all the texts and e-mails where Charles berated Henry for “abandoning” him and being “cold-hearted,” “selfish,” “spiteful,” “a prude,” and, of course, “a lousy lay.” Pete marveled at how Charles’s messages went from praising Henry for being sexy and submissive to tearing him apart for being boring and passive. 

“How can anyone be so awful to Henry?” Pete asked. Pete knew Henry’s flaws better than anyone, and he’d fought harder than anyone to be let behind his walls, but Henry was good-hearted, kind, and generous. While the rest of the world seemed to think Pete needed to forget about Jane, Henry had asked about her and helped Pete find ways to celebrate her life without getting too depressed. The first time they’d made love, Pete had come in his pants and Henry had acted like it was sweet instead of just embarrassing. In fact, he never made Pete feel insecure about his inexperience.

When Jane had died, Pete had thought he would never find another person who really liked him the way he was, but Henry had taken all of Pete’s quirks in stride.

“You’re what Henry needs,” Poppy explained. “Someone honest and open, who appreciates Henry as he is.”

“He’s got me, and he still ended up nearly dying while Charles tried to get a leg over.”

“That’s not because of you, Pete. That’s because Henry isn’t ready to be loved. He still thinks he deserves what he gets from Charles. But he’s trying. He wants to be happy. He wants to make you happy.”

Pete read another e-mail from Charles in which he told Henry he’d be even sexier if he went to the gym once in a while.

“Can the first step to making Henry happy be tracking down Charles and killing him?” Pete asked hopefully.

Poppy laughed her boisterous laugh. “Sadly, no. Henry needs to kill Charles in his own way.”

“What can I do?”

“Just be Pete Sweet.”

“That ain’t even my real name.”

Poppy rolled her eyes and said, “Reality is overrated.”

Xxx

Henry’s parents picked him up at the hospital and took him out for lunch while Pete grabbed a few hours of sleep. He wanted a (semi) clear head for Henry’s return. Marie and Edward had set up a hotel for the night so Henry and Pete could “catch up,” as Marie delicately put it. Pete had put all their toys out of sight, but he hoped they hadn’t gone poking around in the bedroom. There were things a parent didn’t need to know about their son, and they had already learned too much.

Pete set his alarm for two and then slept through it. He woke up to Henry’s hand gently shaking his shoulder.

“I’m home,” Henry said quietly. He looked so nervous that Pete jumped up and into his arms, wrapping his body around Henry’s.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Pete cried. “I hate sleeping without you.”

Henry laughed and squeezed him tight, but Pete could feel that something was wrong.

“What’s the matter, Henry?”

“I was just… Did you happen to look at any of the e-mails or…?”

“I read them all.”

Henry looked surprised.

“All? You mean since…”

“The first e-mail he sent you, and all the texts and all the voice mails.”

Pete felt Henry’s knees buckle and they fell on the bed in a heap.

Henry apologized and rubbed his eyes hard.

“So you saw…?”

“Everything.”

“And?”

Pete wrapped his arms around Henry’s neck and kissed his cheek.

“I love you so much, Henry Dulcy.”


	7. Chapter 7

Pete was not an articulate man, so he tried to use his kisses to show Henry what he couldn’t say as they lay tangled on the bed, but he felt a hesitation on Stitch’s side.

“Are you angry I read everything? I know I shouldn’t have gone back so far, but Po—but once I started, I couldn’t stop. I just wanted to understand.”

Henry rolled onto his back and covered his face with his hands. “I wanted you to read them. I’m just… I’m trying not to fall back on self-loathing.” 

Pete squeezed Henry hard around the waist.

“You should hate Charles. I do. It’s really easy, ‘cause he is a total dick.”

Henry gave a week laugh and gently wrapped his arms around Pete. “I’m embarrassed, and I don’t even know what you read. I don’t remember what we’ve talked about…”

“Don’t matter,” Pete interrupted, “because every e-mail was the same. It was him pretending to build you up when he was really tearing you down. He’s a con man.”

“I was with him over a year, I continued to sleep with him after I broke up with him, I let him make me feel so unsettled I ended up almost dying. It isn’t all him.”

“It is all him, because he’s a vulture. He keeps circling around until you’re injured, and then he swoops in.”

“I played my part.”

“You played the part of a human being who wanted to feel loved and appreciated. We all want that, Henry. Imagine if Charles had come after me?” Pete could tell by the way Henry’s arms tightened around Pete’s body that his partner had considered just that scenario. “I was really confused and lost when I met you. You could have played me just like Charles would, but instead you were a good friend to me and tried not to take advantage.”

“I’ve dragged you into my mess with Charles and my addictions and my sexual hang-ups.”

“Wot? You are mental if you think that’s what happened! I spent months working my way into your bedroom, and I did everything I could to get between you and Charles. Remember the first time I met him and he came to ask you out, all slimy and full of apologies? I invited myself along and got between you guys all night long.”

Henry looked surprised. “I didn’t think you realized what was going on.”

“I didn’t really,” Pete admitted, “but I could tell he was up to no good. There was this dead handsome guy asking you out for a drink and you were looking more like someone trying to decide if a piece of fish had gone bad than a man about to go on a date. I knew there was something wrong there.”

Pete had been suspicious that Henry might be gay early on in their friendship because of the way he avoided using pronouns when he discussed dating, but he’d been surprised by Charles. Pete had expected Henry to fancy brainy, bookish types like himself, and Charles looked like he’d stepped out of an ad for an expensive hotel line. He’d been polished from head to toe in a way that did not fit in with Henry’s general aesthetic, and the way Charles had spoken to Henry clearly had not suggested that they were just mates.

“I am always underestimating you, Pete. I’m sorry about that.”

“I like for people to think I’m dimmer than I am,” Pete admitted. “People like me more when they think I’m harmless.”

Pete was surprised by his own words, even as they came tumbling out of his mouth. Life was easier when people thought he didn’t have any thoughts in his head. Henry never would have hired him at the kiosk if he’d thought Pete actually had a motivation other than seeing a brightly colored ‘help wanted’ sign. Pete had been able to slip through Henry’s defenses with a wide-eyed stare.

Henry responded in a halting voice, as though he were sharing a dark secret. “I used to try and play dumb with Charles and let him explain things to me so he wouldn’t always feel like he had to prove something to me… but then he’d get condescending, and I’d lose it. My ego can’t handle not being the smartest guy in the room, even if I am a loser working in a kiosk.”

“What’s wrong with working in a kiosk?” Pete asked. “I love it. There’s a really cute guy at work, and I get to check out his arse all day long.”

Henry smiled and brushed the hair back from Pete’s face. “You are so lovely.”

Pete went in for another kiss, but he could feel Henry holding back.

“Tell me what’s going on, Henry.”

“I talked to my counselor about my… particular interests in the bedroom and whether or not you were happy about our sex life, and I had no idea. It’s been nearly a year for us, and I have no idea what you really want in bed because it’s always about me.”

Pete felt a blush creeping over his body.

“I like everything, you know me. I just want to be with you.”

“I like everything, too, but clearly I have some specific interests,” Henry countered, his eyes suddenly sharp and all-seeing.

Pete wasn’t quite ready to admit he didn’t know what his ‘specific interests’ were, so he remained silent.

“I see how you react to different things, and I know that after we play the rougher stuff, you like things to be very tender and romantic, but when we’re in public, it seems like you prefer things a little harder and faster. I know that after I tie you up, you seem a lot more comfortable expressing your feelings. It seems like…”

Pete put his hand over Henry’s mouth. “I get it, Henry. Your tiny eyes see all.”

Henry smiled and pulled Pete’s hand down. “I happen to be studying you quite closely, Pete Sweet, but there’s a lot I don’t know about you that I probably should.”

“You already know more than me,” Pete admitted. “I’ve just been trying to be what I thought you’d want. I didn’t even notice any of the stuff you’re talking about.”

“Maybe it’s time we figure out what you like,” Henry suggested softly. “Together.”

Xxx

Pete watched Henry’s hands twitch and knew his partner would be more at ease if his hands were tied, but Pete liked when Henry had to work to stay still. It was hotter that way. 

Henry was completely naked, and Pete was fully dressed. Henry thought that particular kink was symbolic, because Pete always felt like his thoughts and feelings were exposed while Henry kept his hidden. That particular theory had earned Henry an hour of being quiet without a gag. Pete could see the effort it had taken Henry not to speak, and he liked it.

Through months of experimentation, Pete had found his biggest kink was getting Henry to submit to his worshipful appreciation. He could, and had, spent hours just kissing and stroking Henry’s body before allowing either of them any kind of release. He liked bringing Henry close, but then stopping and focusing on the lovely arch of Henry’s foot or the freckles on his shoulders. He’d learned from Daisy that what he was doing was called ‘edging,’ but Henry called it, “being a prick.” For all his grousing, Henry never hesitated to let Pete take charge. Pete could see that it made Henry uncomfortable to have his body be openly adored unless they were actually fucking, and that discomfort drove Pete to play their new game even more. 

“Lift your arse up a bit,” Pete ordered, and Henry quickly obliged. Pete squeezed and massaged the firm cheeks before spreading them and licking at Henry’s entrance. When Henry moaned into the pillow, he was given a warning.

“This is quiet time,” Pete reminded him before he began rimming in earnest. When Henry tried to rub his leaking cock on the bed, Pete made him pull his hips up higher.

“Not yet, Henry. I am not done admiring this beautiful arse of yours.” Pete ran his finger around Henry’s puckered hole while Henry tried to push into his finger. “Now, do I want to fuck you, or do I want to be fucked?” he wondered aloud. 

“Anything, please,” Henry begged.

“You’re supposed to be quiet,” Pete reminded him with a light smack on the arse. Henry glared at Pete over his shoulder but then went back to biting his pillow. Pete slowly worked one, then two fingers into Henry’s tight opening and stroked them in and out until Henry’s back was tense and sweaty.

“You really need to come, don’t you?” he asked, getting a growl and a moan in response. He ordered Stitch to roll over and then chucked off his own trousers and pants. Henry’s eyes were dark and hooded as Pete straddled his waist wearing just a t-shirt.

“Fuck me,” Pete said as he slid his fingers back inside Henry’s arse. Pete continued to finger Henry as he was prepared to be entered. Henry’s hands were shaking with desperation and as soon as he pulled Pete onto his cock, Henry looked ready to come, but he held off even as Pete worked his hips in slow circles, his fingers still working Henry’s own entrance. 

“Come inside me,” Pete suggested. “And then I’m going to fuck you.”

That was enough to get Henry off. Henry stroked Pete’s erection gently as he continued to ride Henry’s softening cock. When Pete finally climbed off of Henry’s waist, his partner was quick to spread his own legs as Pete moved into a new position. He put Henry’s long legs over his shoulders and fucked him with long, slow strokes. He would pull out almost all the way before pushing in until Henry was moaning for more, despite being spent.

“You’re going to have trouble sitting at the premiere,” Pete teased. “Especially since I plan on doing this again before we leave.”

The movie, “Whipped,” was having its official opening that night. Unlike “Sweet,” “Whipped” was expected to have a big crowd. Rather than cast Daisy in the lead, Gel had given her a smaller role (at great personal risk to himself) and cast another actress, named Lucy, as Andy. Lucy was an amazing actress who had unexpectedly become a household name only weeks before, when an independent horror film featuring her had become a surprise hit. Suddenly, people were eager to see her “new project.”

“You’re going to have trouble sitting once I get you in that men’s room,” Henry countered.

Pete decided self-control was overrated and went at Henry like Beefheart humping a table leg until he came so hard he saw stars.

Xxx

Pete and Henry were trying very hard to act casual as they walked out of the men’s room, but they were immediately accosted by Gel.

“People are loving it, Stitch!” he cried as he threw his arms around Henry. “This is amazing. We need to start moving on the next film before Lucy gets too famous and we can’t afford her.”

Pete zoned out and watched the crowd mill about them in the lobby. “Whipped” had premiered before another, larger-budget independent film, but from what Pete was hearing, the buzz was much stronger for Henry’s film.

Some people recognized Pete and Henry as the couple hosting an orgy and bickering over the refreshments and generally making it impossible for the lead character to get into what he called “an orgy groove.” Pete greeted people and accepted compliments while Gel and Stitch were deep in conversation. It wasn’t until he heard the name “Jane” that he paid attention to their conversation. He waited until Gel had moved on to ask, “Were you talking about Jane? My Jane?”

Henry looked guilty as he explained. “It was just an idea. You and I have talked about writing about her, and I had some good ideas… I don’t know why I told Gel about it before I talked to you. We were spitballing storylines and it came up, but I promise I didn’t go into detail, and I won’t write it if you don’t want me to… Are you listening?”

“Shh. I’m trying to be mindful.”

Pete closed his eyes and tried to do what Henry’s counselor had suggested and listen to what his body was telling him. She said that while they did it in different ways, ultimately Pete and Henry both had a habit of ignoring their feelings, and they needed to learn to be “present and mindful.”

Pete thought of his first love, his ‘Glamorous Jane’ who had taught him it was okay to be different, that being different could be a good thing. Jane, who had lived ten lifetimes before dying at nineteen. Jane, who had showed him that sex could be fun and spontaneous and not at all like the movies.

“You should write about Jane.” Pete was surprised by the crack in his voice as he spoke. His eyes welled with unexpected tears, and Henry pulled him close and kissed the top of his head. Pete wanted there to be a movie about Jane just as wonderful and full of life as she had always been, and Henry was the person to write it. If that meant Pete had to spend the next year having mini-breakdowns, that was a fair exchange. Pete was learning that it was okay to be sad.

“Oh dear!”

Pete jumped at Marie’s voice and quickly dried his eyes, as though there were a chance she wouldn’t notice.

Marie held out her arms and Pete happily fell into her embrace.

“Now, tell Mummy what’s wrong.”

Pete didn’t have to see Henry to know he was smiling. Marie was as grateful to have a son she could coddle as Pete was to have a mum who wanted to. 

“Well done, son,” Edward said in the background. Pete assumed they were exchanging some kind of awkward handshake/hug. Henry had spent a lot of time with his parents after his hospitalization and Pete had got to know them quite well. In fact, Edward sometimes called Henry “Stitch.” It made Pete smile to know that even Henry’s dad found him a bit prickly.

Pete assured Marie that he was fine and just really proud of Henry, so she could turn her attention to making Henry self-conscious with her adoration. Marie appreciated that Pete was helping Henry to be more comfortable receiving love and affection, though Pete chose not to mention that spanking and blowjobs were often part of the process. It was enough that Edward and Marie accepted their relationship. Pete figured no parent wanted to acknowledge that their precious babies grew up and had kinky sex.

“You looked so handsome on screen, Henry. You should think about acting,” Marie said, echoing what Pete had been saying since “Sweet,” while Henry blushed and kicked at the ground. Charles had backed off after his machinations nearly killed Henry, but his ghost lingered. Henry still equated feeling good about himself with being manipulated. Pete refused to talk to Poppy when she popped up, because it only got in the way of him talking to Henry directly, but he kept her words in mind. Henry still needed to kill Charles in his own way.

Xxx

Pete had started bringing a tureen of soup to the kiosk just to keep up with Henry’s constant need for comfort as he wrote a script without the help of his usual crutches. Then one day, a customer had asked to buy a bowl, and now Pete had a business on the side. It wasn’t legal, he didn’t have a permit or anything, but there was enough word of mouth that Pete was starting to think he actually could make a living using his skills, rather than just riding Henry’s coattails. Henry’s parents had already offered them a loan if he wanted to make a go of it. Pete was flattered and terrified.

Meanwhile, Henry was doing his best to quietly slurp soup as he talked on the phone. The conversation sounded Important. 

Pete quietly accepted a “donation” for a bowl of tomato basil bisque and waited for Henry’s call to end.

Henry ended the call sounding cheerful and then clutched his chest.

Pete was at his side in a moment, offering to call the hospital or get him more soup, but Henry insisted he was fine.

“I was just offered a job to write a script. For money. Real money.”

“What kind of script?”

“A short horror piece. Gel was invited to direct a short film in a collection of horror movies. It’s supposed to be based on the letter C.”

Pete could think of plenty of words that began with the letter C, and yet Charles was first and foremost in his mind.

“Here’s your chance to kill Charles,” he said, before he could think better of the idea.

Henry frowned and then smiled.

“I’m going to write a script where I kill Charles, make a bunch of money, and then I’m going to take you to the fanciest restaurant in town and we’re going to wear trainers and be proud of it.”

Pete threw himself into Henry’s arms and added, “And then we are totally going to do it in their fancy bathroom while the attendant pretends he can’t hear us.”

“What would I do without you, Pete Sweet?”

Pete saw Poppy out of the corner of his eye. Henry was starting to make money as a writer and Pete was potentially going to open a diner. Everything was suddenly becoming very real and very grown-up. He wanted to reach out to Poppy for reassurance, but instead, he closed his eyes and sniffed Henry’s hair, scared but happy to be living in the real world.


End file.
